


The Tudor Rose

by essequamvideri24



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The Shadow of the Tower, The White Princess (TV), The White Queen (TV), Winter King: Henry VII and the Dawn of Tudor England - Thomas Penn
Genre: Elizabeth of York - Freeform, F/M, Henry VII - Freeform, Wars of the Roses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-04-14 06:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 77,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4553595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essequamvideri24/pseuds/essequamvideri24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is a historical fiction tracking the relationship of Henry VII of England and Elizabeth of York, as well as the reign of Henry VII.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Game Begins

Milky mists haunted the landscape before her eyes, clinging to the ground and creeping between the trees. Elizabeth sighed and the glass in the window before her became shrouded in condensation. Life with Lady Margaret Beaufort was quiet. Of course any life away from her numerous siblings was bound to be quiet. There was little entertainment in this home. She had wandered the garden so many times she had worn her own footpaths to her favorite places. The chapel was all too familiar to her, and often Margaret herself was in there, kneeling on the flagstone floor in prayer. Her keenest pleasure was to write to her mother and sisters, letters flew freely between them.

But today all attempts at finding a distraction had been in vain. Elizabeth reached up to fiddle with the chain about her neck. It was a small and simple, plain gold chain. Once it had been her mother’s, a gift from her husband. When Elizabeth had last parted from her mother, she had been given the chain, something to remember her mother by. Elizabeth Woodville had retained the medallion for herself, something to remember her husband by. 

From out of the mist rode a small party. They were too far away for Elizabeth to distinguish who was among the party. Trepidation seized her as she watched the riding party near the grand home. Soon she could hear the ringing of horseshoes in the yard. Men were swinging down from their high steeds, she recognized Lord Stanley among them. 

“Come, Elizabeth!”

She turned to find Lady Margaret in the doorway. Elizabeth hurried to her, and the woman took her arm. “Lord Stanley has arrived with my son.” She sounded pleased. “Oh, but child! You quiver like a leaf!” Lady Margaret exclaimed, leading Elizabeth out into the corridor, “I know, you have never met your betrothed. But you mustn’t worry, Henry is a good man.”

“It is only… I hope I shall please him.”

“Please him?” Lady Margaret smiled kindly, “You are handsome and sweet, you would make any man in this kingdom a happy one.” 

Elizabeth nodded. She hoped Lady Margaret was right. The thought that she neither could nor would voice, was that she worried about her own happiness. 

Terrible notions plagued her daily since Henry had sent for her to be fetched from Sherrifhutton to his mother’s house. Would Henry be good to her? Would he care for her? Would he hate her for being a Rivers? Would he hate her for being the old king’s daughter? The king he could not live in England under. Would he resent her, and everything that made her who she was? Worst of all, what if he refused to have her at all? What if the promise was sham, and he would not marry her?

Lady Margaret led her down the stairs, along a short corridor, and through into the front hall of the great house. 

The heavy oak doors opened and in burst a throng of men, Lord Stanley at their head. “Wife!” He strode directly to Lady Margaret and knelt, kissing her hand. “I hope you are well.” He stood.

“Quite,” She favored him with a smile, “husband.” Her attentions shifted to another of the men, “I see you have brought my son.” There was a hint of teasing in her voice.

The man approached Lady Margaret and took her hand to kiss, but ended up in his mother’s embrace. 

“Henry.” She said, pulling away. “May I introduce Lady Elizabeth.” 

Elizabeth immediately sunk into a low curtsey, the lowest she had ever given. Growing up as a princess there were few she would honor with a curtsey, and even when custom dictated one her’s were normally shallow. But she was no longer a princess, and he was the king. She kept her eyes firmly on the floor, “Your grace.” She murmured. Her own pulse thundered in her ears and her mouth went dry.

Peering up under her eyelashes Elizabeth could just perceive Henry turning to stand before her. He removed his leather gloves with care and held them in one hand. 

“You may stand.”

The men were gone from the room, only Lady Margaret and Lord Stanley remained, looking on.

She lifted her eyes to find Henry. He was tall and lean. Not thin, but well built. His face was long with bright blue eyes. Curls of light brown hair could be seen peeking out beneath his cap. A day or two of stubble shadowed his jaw. He was not handsome like her father or brothers had been, but he was a fine looking man.

To her surprise he took her hand and kissed it. “Lady Elizabeth.” He said simply.

“Well!” Lady Margaret exclaimed, “you both must be famished after such a journey. I’ll send for some food to be prepared. Meanwhile, Lady Elizabeth, why don’t you show his grace to his rooms.”

“Margaret, we have-“ Lord Stanley halted midsentence when he caught Lady Margaret’s cold look behind her son’s back, “Ah, yes, a most excellent idea, wife.” He corrected himself.

Elizabeth bowed her head in obedience to Lady Margaret, and returned her attention to Henry. 

He gestured for her to lead the way and Elizabeth crossed into the corridor. Henry followed and was soon by her side. As they neared the stairs to the same wing she was lodged in, Elizabeth longed for some type of conversation. “Did you have a pleasant journey, your grace?” She asked. A simple question, he would think her a simple girl. She silently cursed herself in her own mind.

“Pleasant? The weather was not agreeable, but these things are inconsequential when one is in great anticipation of what they shall arrive to.”

Elizabeth hardly knew how to reply.

But he saved her from formulating one. “And have you enjoyed your time here with my lady mother?”

“Yes, your grace. It is a fine home, and your mother has been most instructive in all things spiritual.”

They mounted the stairs together, Elizabeth noticed Henry watching her as she gathered her skirts in her hands. “I am glad that you have enjoyed your stay. Though, soon you shall be summoned to court, should you like that?”

“Yes. It has been quite some time since I was at court.”

“So I understand. I am sorry for keeping you from it for so long.”

“I do miss the diversions of court, but I am content to remain here as long as you please, your grace.” 

He smirked, “A young woman such as yourself could hardly find a country home with only one companion and no confidante a suitable place to remain.” 

“I would sooner remain than disobey the wishes of my king.” She replied, leading the way.

“I would that all my subjects were as faithful as you.” He shook his head. “Winning a battle is one thing, winning over a kingdom is quite another.”

Elizabeth merely nodded, matters of state were quite outside of the realm of subjects it was meet for her to comment on. Especially in conversation with the King.

But he continued, “All in due course, I suppose. Much like anything else. Though I suppose you know all about patience.”

“Do I, your grace?”

“Don’t you? You have been here in my mother’s house for months, never once questioning your position or protesting your condition.” 

Elizabeth smoothed her skirt with trembling fingers. She had, in fact, questioned her position and condition many a time, though not aloud. She truly did not understand why she was to stay with Lady Beaufort for so long. She had begun to doubt that he would ever make her his wife, and had a view to keep her as a prisoner, his lady mother serving as her jailor. “I am content to remain in any position your grace desires. But may I ask…” Her own boldness frightened her.

“Yes, go on.” He paused, turning to face her.

She steeled herself, balling her hands into fists at her sides. “What is my position?” She could hardly look him in the eye, what if he found her question impertinent?

“Lady Elizabeth, only a fool would hide away a fine jewel. A wise man shows his jewel to the world.” She searched his face, surely he would not speak to her so plainly, he must be teasing. “Your patience shall be rewarded,” She found his expression earnest, his eyes fixed on her, “You have my word.”

Elizabeth could feel the color rising in her cheeks and hastily bobbed a curtsey, “Your grace.” She almost whispered as he turned to enter his room.

She retreated to her own room. So, he hadn’t forgotten her, or his promise? Or so it seemed. She was relieved. Hastening to her bed, Elizabeth collapsed across the mattress. He did seem a fine man, amiable and easy to converse with. She reflected on their meeting and every aspect of their conversation. Perhaps theirs’ would be a happy marriage, though she knew such things were rare and not to be expected. Especially among political marriages, such as their arrangement.

When the meal was ready a servant was sent to notify Elizabeth. The talk over the food consisted mostly of political matters, on which Margaret was most keen to advise her son. The woman was shrewder even than her own mother. Had she been born a man, Lady Beaufort would have made a highly effective advisor to a king. Perhaps she would have been king herself.

Elizabeth was surprised to find that Henry welcomed and even encouraged his mother’s comment and advice as to his royal responsibilities. She was equally surprised to find that Lord Stanley did not attempt to exercise even a modicum of control over his wife, though she fully believed the man capable of it. It seemed that Lady Margaret was treated as equal to a man within this family. Though Elizabeth had to confess she could not envision Lady Margaret bending to the will of another.

After the meal Lady Margaret and Lord Stanley retired to their wing of the house, where the masters’ rooms were located. While Henry escorted Elizabeth to the guest wing of the house, where they were both lodging. “I wonder, Lady Elizabeth,” Henry began as they took to the stairs, “do you play at cards?”

“Yes your grace.”

“Would you indulge me in playing a game or two?”

“Of course.” 

Once inside her lodgings Elizabeth fetched a deck of cards from a simple wood box by the window and brought them to the table before the fire. She handed the deck to Henry. “What game shall we play, your grace?”

“Which ones do you know?” He seated himself, absent mindedly thumbing through the deck.

“All of the games fashionable at court.” She said crossing to the sideboard, “Some wine, your grace?”

“Henry.”

“I beg your pardon?” Her hand faltered as she reached for a cup, and she looked back at him over her shoulder. Surely she had misheard him.

His head was bent, already intent on dealing the cards for their game. “You may call me Henry. I would that we became familiar with one another.” 

“As you wish.” As she poured the wine she found herself wondering if such familiarity could be taken as a sign that he found her pleasing. But she banished the thought from her mind, she had to be careful never to get her hopes up.

Elizabeth joined Henry at the table, handing him his cup before seating herself. “What are we playing?”

“I thought I may teach you a game I learned in Brittany. If you don’t mind. It is a simple game.”

“I should like to learn it.”

He explained the rules to her carefully before they began. 

“I know you must think I have forgotten you.” He said abruptly. “I want you to know I have not. I have not forgotten the pledge I made.”

“I…” Elizabeth’s eyes fixed on the cards in her hands, though she could not say she saw them. Her heart was racing. “I – I did not think you had forgotten me.”

“It would be hard to think otherwise. I did not mean to cause you worry by keeping you here with my lady mother.” He played a card. “I simply had to establish myself King. But the time is right now to bring you to court.”

Elizabeth continued to contemplate her cards, though she was having trouble concentrating on the game when the conversation was so consuming. “I would like to join you at court.” She lifted her eyes to find him studying her.

“Tell me, Lady Elizabeth, what did you think of me when you met me?”

She returned her eyes to her cards, formulating the appropriate response. She played a card at random to buy her some time. “I thought you looked every inch a King.” Elizabeth said carefully.

He smirked, “Truly, what did you think?”

Elizabeth could feel her face getting hotter under his gaze. 

“I can see I have embarrassed you. I do not mean to torment you, Lady Elizabeth.” He sat back in his chair, tossing a card onto the table. 

“Charming.” She said suddenly into her cards.

He raised an eyebrow.

“When I met you. I found you charming.” She could hardly believe she was hearing herself speak like this.

He nodded, satisfied. 

“I hope you do not think me too forward, your grace.” Her sudden swell of confidence had retreated like a tide.

He laughed, “I could hardly find you offensive, my lady.”

Elizabeth played a card. 

“Will you join the hunting party tomorrow?” He asked, contemplating his next move.

“I did not know there was to be a hunt.” She admitted, “But I will join, I love being out of doors.”

He played his final card. “Good. However…”

“However?”

“However, I see you will be needing more practice at this game.”

She looked at the cards on the table to find that she had lost. “I fear you are correct.”

“I will endeavor to make you a better player, yet.” Henry gathered the cards to himself, stacking the deck.

“And I shall endeavor to become a more worthy opponent.” A tone of teasing affected her voice.

“I fear I must retire for the night.” Henry said taking her hand as she stood to face him before the fire. Henry took both her hands in his. “May I say goodnight to you?”

“Yes, you may.” 

In a moment he had taken a step forward, one hand on the back of her neck, his other arm about her waist, his hand pressing on the small of her back. Elizabeth would have gasped, but before she could he had drawn her to him, and his lips were on hers. She relaxed into his embrace as much as she could, hands on his chest, fingers curling around the collar of his doublet.

He pulled away, taking her cheek in the palm of his hand. “Good night, Lady Elizabeth.” He said before turning to leave.


	2. The Chase

Weak beams of sunlight filtered into Elizabeth’s room as a maid dressed her in a gown of dark blue wool. She wasn’t normally up so early, but today she needed to be up with the sun in order to join the hunting party. It would be the last hunt of the season, it had become so cold Elizabeth feared it would snow any day now.

“You’ll be needing a cloak today, my lady, it is quite cold.” The maid, a wisp of a girl, said as she plaited Elizabeth’s flaxen hair.

“Nearly ready?” Lady Margaret said as she entered her room.

“Yes, my Lady, nearly.” 

Lady Margaret crossed to the chest at the foot of Elizabeth’s grand four poster bed, hung with deep green and white brocade. The lid of the chest stood open so Elizabeth’s clothes were on display. She bent down and picked up Elizabeth’s tan gloves. “Henry tells me he spent some time with you yesterday evening.” 

“Yes, he taught me a card game.” The maid had completed the plait and had gone to fetch Elizabeth’s cloak.

Margaret approached Elizabeth and took her hand. “I think you will find Henry a most agreeable man. He trusts few, but once you have won his trust it is a precious commodity.”

“Then I hope he can grow to trust me.” She said as Margaret fitted Elizabeth’s hands into her gloves.

“I suspect he shall. All in due time.”

The maid flung the cloak over Elizabeth’s shoulders and Margaret produced her own gloves from the belt at her waist and slipped them on. “Come, let us go to the yard.”

Today the yard was far from the quiet square it normally was when it had just been herself and Lady Margaret occupying the house. The cold morning was alive. The yard was crowded with men, those who had come with Lord Stanley and King Henry, as well as men of the household. Stable boys were leading horses out of the stables already dressed in their tack. Men and women from the kitchens were hauling out baskets filled with bread and cold meats for the dinner the party would take with them. Boys came from the kennels with packs of dogs on leads, ready for the chase.

Her arm still looped through Lady Beaufort’s, Elizabeth was led through the crowds. While Lady Margaret was inquiring after their horses with the stable master Elizabeth spied Henry. He was conversing with Lord Stanley and another man. He turned to find her looking. Elizabeth nearly looked away when she caught his eye, but was glad she did not when he winked at her, before returning his attention back to his companions.

“You shall have the sorrel and I shall take the bay.” Margaret said when the stable master had disappeared into the stables. “Have you been on a hunt before, Lady Elizabeth?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

“Then you know that we must keep one another company, for you know the men cannot be counted on as companions during such an activity.” She grinned to herself. “Why is it men who do everything, while us women are expected to stand by and watch?”

“From what I have seen, Lady Beaufort, you have not let what people expect of you keep you from doing what you would.”

“There is some truth in what you say.” Her eyes gleamed.

***

Out on the trails their party moved slowly through the wood. Occasionally a hart or some pheasants were sighted and then the men would take off at a gallop, the dogs darting off before them. The women would follow up at a canter until they met up with the party. 

They ate their dinner in the grass on a hillside, after the serving men had spread blankets on the verdant lawn and dished out the packed food. Like always Elizabeth sat at Lady Margaret’s side, though Lady Margaret was engrossed in conversation with Lord Stanley, leaving Elizabeth to her own thoughts. 

“May I join you?” Henry asked as he approached, the blistering wind had reddened his cheeks and his nose. Elizabeth was suddenly aware that her cheeks and nose must look to be in a similar state.

“Of course, your grace.” Lord Stanley boomed happily, the hunt had gone well for him, he had managed to shoot a doe and two pheasants. Henry himself had shot two harts.

“Henry, we must discuss something.” Lady Margaret said.

“Yes, Lady mother?” He sat with them.

“The small matter of your wedding.” She smiled.

“What of it?” He shot Elizabeth a secret grin while Margaret shared an exasperated expression with her husband.

“What of it?” She repeated. “Henry you must plan it.”

“Of course. Yes. Well, I have given it some thought.” 

“Yes?” Lady Margaret sounded impatient.

Henry turned his attention to Elizabeth, “I thought we could get married just after Christmastime.”

Elizabeth bit her lip to keep from smiling. He had more than just remembered his pledge to her, he had already begun to plan how to bring it to fruition. And Christmastime was not so far away.

“I had also thought that Lady Elizabeth might join us at court for Christmastime.”

“Well, I do not see anything objectionable about that.” Lady Margaret said. “Husband?”

“No, not at all. It would be good for Lady Elizabeth to reestablish herself at court.” Lord Stanley said between bites of a rather large turkey leg.

“And what about Lady Elizabeth’s household?” Lady Margaret asked.

A corner of Henry’s mouth twisted upward in amusement, “Mother, we do not need to discuss that today. There is more than enough time to arrange all that.”

Lady Margaret pursed her lips, but heeded her son’s wishes. “I shall be glad to get in out of this miserable cold.” She grumbled.

“Be of good cheer wife, a little cold air and some exercise does us all some good.” Lord Stanley smiled, “You spend too much time indoors, you look rather well for having been out today.”

Lady Margaret’s features softened, “Do you tease me, husband?”

“I would never dare.” 

Just then a horn blew, and all the men discarded their trenchers, weather still laden with food or not, on the blankets and raced for their horses. Some game had been sighted and the chase was on. Elizabeth could hear the barking of dogs disappearing into the wood followed by the heavy footfalls of galloping horses, their riders shouting and hollering.

Elizabeth and Lady Margaret made for their own horses at a slower pace, mounting with the help of a mounting block and the hand of a servant. Reins in hand, Elizabeth set off following the hunting party at a canter. The overcast sky barely visible for the branches of the evergreen trees overhead. Her mind was no longer on the bitter cold, or the hunt, but rather dwelt on the thought of marriage. If she could have a marriage half so loving as her parents’ had been, she thought she could count herself a very content woman herself. After last night she had dared to allow herself to hope that Henry would be good to her. Just thinking of the kiss sent a warmness to her chest, despite the freezing air all around her.

The hunt moved in fits and starts for an hour or two more before Lord Stanley declared he thought the women were like to be well fatigued by now, and the King decided they should return. As they emerged from the wood into the lawns that surrounded the great house, Elizabeth was surprised to find that a delicate and light snow was falling from the sky, though it barely dusted the grass. She pulled up the hood of her cloak and marveled at the crystalline beauty of the house and surrounding landscape chased in silver. 

In the yard Elizabeth was handed down from her horse, whereupon she found herself very sore from sitting a saddle for most of the day. Her legs felt weak, her back rigid and stiff. She hurried into the home along with some of the others, and immediately made for the guest wing of the house.

“Lady Elizabeth.” She heard her name called as she neared the stairs and turned to find Henry making for her.

“Your grace.” She said, despite his instruction to call him Henry, and dropped into curtsey. She did not think she could bring herself to such informality as to call him by his Christian name, at least not here in the corridor where anyone could hear her and think her disrespectful.

“Did you enjoy the hunt?” He asked.

“Yes,” She said, rising, and looked up to find him bare headed, flakes of snow in the wind tossed tangles of his hair. “Why do you not wear your cap?”

He moved to the stairs, “I’m afraid I lost it in the chase. A small price to pay for a fine day.”

“Let us hope there is not a heftier price to pay.” The stairs were a challenge to her sore legs.

“Do you fear for my health, Lady Elizabeth?” 

“Only, being out in the cold like that with no cap, you would be lucky if you did not catch a cold.”

He looked pleased, for some reason. “And how are you after such a long day in the saddle?”

“Perfectly fine, your grace.” It was a lie, she was cursing the damned stairs every step of the way.

“Will you allow me to lend you my arm, Lady Elizabeth, even though you are perfectly fine?” He asked.

Elizabeth looked up into his face, his eyebrows were raised and there was a curl to his lip. Apparently she had poorly masked her own discomfort. “Yes, I think that would be alright, thank you.” She took the proffered arm gratefully, and with some small help reached the corridor with considerably less disquiet.

“I hope you are not entirely exhausted, Lady Elizabeth.” Henry said.

“Oh, and why is that?” She still had his arm.

“Do you not remember your promise to me?” His eyebrows were knit in mock concern.

“I…” Her promise? “I must confess I do not, your grace.”

“Oh for shame! For you made the promise to me only yesterday evening. I am wounded.”

She could not hold back a giggle, “I am very sorry, do help me to remember.”

“You promised to become a better card player, a worthy opponent.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I remember now.” She stopped before the door to her lodgings. “Would you like to come in and play at cards with me, your grace?”

He nodded and she led them into her room. A fire was already lit in the fireplace, and tapers already burned all about the room to combat the imminent darkness. A tray of bread, cheese, and fruit was already on the sideboard along with a decanter of wine and two cups. Though she had expected the fire to be made ready ahead of time, she had not sent for any food to be brought to her room. Elizabeth could only conclude that this had been Henry’s doing.

As Elizabeth freed her hands from their gloves, Henry draped his cloak over the still open lid of her chest. “Here.” He said coming up to her. He unclasped the rose shaped pin that joined her cloak just below her neck and a lifted the heavy wool garment from her shoulders, depositing it alongside his own.

“Thank you… Henry.” She said softly, trying out his name for the first time.

He quietly went to the window and unearthed her playing cards from the wood box while she poured them some wine at the sideboard, loading the cups onto the tray of food. 

“Perhaps luck will be on your side tonight, Lady Elizabeth.” He sat at the table and began shuffling the cards.

“Oh, but luck seems to have been favoring you all day long. Tell me, how did you fare in the hunt today?” She brought the tray to the table and sat opposite him.

“Three stags and seven pheasants.” He began to deal, “But perhaps my luck has run out.”

Elizabeth sipped her wine, “I should not place my hope in fortune, but rather in my own abilities. I know I shall triumph tonight.”

“Oh, do you? And why is that?”

“I have quite figured the game out.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes. I know the strategy now.” She claimed her pile of cards from the tabletop and began arranging her hand.

Henry smiled into his cup, drinking deeply of the wine. “We shall see.”

Elizabeth played the first card. “Tell me, what was it like in Brittany?”

“It was… very French.” Henry played a higher card.

“How is that?” She sipped her wine as she studied her hand.

“Lot of music, dancing, poetry, and other entertainments. I spent much time training with my uncle Jasper, as well.”

She played a card. “Training?”

“Combat training.” He clarified.

Elizabeth blushed, “Of course.” Yes, of course, how else could he have invaded England and defeated her uncle? “And Wales, what was it like in Wales?”

“Have you never been?” He asked with some surprise.

“No. I was raised at court mostly, and a little at some country houses.” She preferred to leave her time in sanctuary out of it. Those were dark days that she would sooner forget.

“Wales is beautiful. Wild, but beautiful.” He played a card, “I will take you there some day.”

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered and she reached for her cup to have a sip of wine to settle it. Maybe he was just saying these things to flatter her, everyone knew it was a strategic marriage, a political marriage. She could not allow herself to believe that he truly liked her. He only liked the idea of using their marriage to end the strife that had torn apart the kingdom and of course for the issue that would secure his own dynasty. She had to rise above his sweet words and subtle glances to remain level headed and sensible.

Perhaps Henry sensed he had overstepped some imaginary boundary line, for he sat back in his chair and also distracted himself with his wine.

Elizabeth cast a card out on to the table. The conversation had stilled, the loud pops and cracks from the fire the only sounds in the room. Henry’s expression had seemed to drop, unable to account for Elizabeth’s sudden change in demeanor.

She obligated herself to break the silence, but not the tension, “Tell me, what did you think of me when you met me, Henry?” She forced herself to say his name in an unwavering voice. She was not a girl to be meddled with my men, but a woman. Perhaps Lady Margaret’s ways were affecting her yet.

Henry took his time, setting down his cup and playing a card. “I thought…” He looked her in the eye from under his long lashes, “that you were exactly the woman everyone told me you were.”

“How is that?”

It was his turn to feel his cheeks warm, “I was told that you were impossibly kind and equally as beautiful.”

She was taken aback by his frankness, surely there was no truth to what he said. “There is no need to flatter me unnecessarily, if you are teasing me I ask that you would stop.” The moment she said it she wished that she could take it back. Speaking thus to your betrothed, moreover a king, certainly merited a measure of punishment.

“I am sure I meant no offense, my lady.” Henry protested, his voice thankfully even and gentle.

“I - I am sorry to have presumed so.” Elizabeth bit her lip and returned her attentions to her cards.

“There is no need for an apology.” Henry looked about to say something else, but then stopped himself cleared his throat. 

“Yes?” Elizabeth asked encouragingly.

“Tis nothing.” He played a card. “Only, do I frighten you, Lady Elizabeth?”

It was an odd sort of question. Certainly she did fear him, as both something of a stranger and her king. At the same time she found his company pleasant, wondering that she found herself as at ease around him as she did. “Only a little.” She finally said as she place her last card on the table.

“Well, only a little is perfectly fine.” He smiled, “I do believe you prediction was correct, I am sorry I ever doubted you.”

“I told you I had understood the strategy. Am I now a worthy opponent?”

He snorted a laugh, his eyes glittering mischievously, “You already were.”

She stood, picking up her cup, “More wine?”

“Thank you,” he handed her his cup and she took it to the sideboard to refill it.

“Now that I have mastered this game, what shall you teach me next?” She asked as she poured.

She was suddenly aware of his presence behind her, his hand on her shoulder, her heart hammering so loud she was sure he could hear it too. “Lots of things.” He said, “May I let down your hair?”

“Yes.” She place her hands on the top of the sideboard to keep them from trembling.

His fingers deftly untied the ribbon at the end of her plait, and worked through her golden ringlets to loosen them. “Beautiful.” He breathed.

Elizabeth turned to face him, eyes downcast. He took her chin and tipped it up so his eyes met hers. “I did mean what I said earlier. I did – I do, find you most beautiful and kind.”

“I am glad I please you.” 

“And I hope I shall please you too.” He said, kissing her softly, then with more urgency, drawing her closer to him. Elizabeth conformed to him, bringing one hand up to his neck, the other on his chest just over his heart. She was surprised when his tongue slipped past her teeth to tease her, how did he know of such things? She ran her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.

Breaking away, he still held her close, “I think you shall make me most happy, Lady Elizabeth.”

“I shall try.” She responded.

“But now it grows late, and I must say goodnight yet again.” He brushed her hair from her face and kissed her yet again. A kiss so tender Elizabeth hoped it would never end. “Good night, my lady.” He said, stroking her cheek before turning to leave. 

She followed him to the door, emboldened, “And what of my good night to you.” She asked, as his hand on the doorknob. 

“What of it?” He asked playfully.

She stood up on tip toe, grabbing on to the collar of his doublet for balance and kissed him as his hands encircled her waist. “Goodnight, Henry.” She breathed.


	3. The Strategy

The orange sun hugged the horizon, steeping the snow covered landscape in warm hues. The snow had stopped falling earlier that day, but a stillness still hung over Elizabeth’s world. It had been a quiet day. Lady Margaret and Lord Stanley had decided to go out among the people of his earldom to distribute alms. Lord Stanley had offered his study to King Henry so Henry could take care of some affairs of state. Elizabeth had kept herself busy in her own chambers like she always did, with embroidery and letter writing.

Out the window she could see a rider galloping up to house and through into the yard. Maybe it was a new letter from her mother or Cecily? Elizabeth traipsed out of her lodgings, eager for some distraction from her own thoughts, which had lingered much on court, Christmastime, marriage, and, of course, Henry. Something about how much she enjoyed his company scared her. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if he found her dull and insipid? But then, why would he kiss her and hold her the way he did? 

She hugged her cream colored shawl tighter about her shoulders as she stepped out into the drafty main corridor of the guest wing. Every time she thought she understood Henry and her own feelings about him, everything seemed to shift and change around her so that she could no longer make sense of either. It did queer things to her heart, and she hardly knew her own feelings from one moment to the next.

Stepping out into the great hall she saw Henry entering at the same moment, from the master’s wing, where he had been holed up in Lord Stanley’s study all morning and afternoon. “Good day, Lady Elizabeth.”

“Your grace. I saw a rider in the yard.” She said by way of explanation for her presence in the front hall.

“As did I.” He responded, “I shall go and investigate.” 

As Henry stepped out into the yard to fetch the letter from the rider, Elizabeth waited in the doorway. The paving stones of the yard were still dusted with snow, the cloudy day had made the sun too weak to melt the meager snow cover. The wind still blew flakes from the roofs and crenellations, to swirl in the air like a false snowfall. 

He returned, letter in hand. “Who is it for?”

“Were you expecting something, Lady Elizabeth?” He asked, “Some secret correspondence from a lover abroad? Some dispatch from a co-conspirator?”

“No. But if I was, I would hardly tell you.” She adopted the same playful tone as him, before admitting, “I was rather hoping it was a letter from my mother or sisters.”

He read the words scratched on the outer fold of the letter above the blue wax seal. “Alas, it is merely some letter for me from some noble or other.” 

She sighed as they turned to re-enter the house.

“Are you bored, Lady Elizabeth?” He asked pausing in the hall, where they would inevitably part ways.

“Hardly, I have embroidery to complete for your Lady Mother’s chapel.” Her own mother had taught her to never complain about her circumstances, and to always present yourself to the world a content woman, no matter what.

Henry’s lip twitched into a small smile, “Embroidery, you say? You must be quite bored.”

She smirked and lowered her eyes, what he said was true. In the quietness of the moment it suddenly occurred to her that, aside from the household, they were quite alone together in the home.

“Come with me to the study. I have many papers to read, and I cannot promise it will be more stimulating than embroidery, but we should keep one another company.”

Elizabeth nodded and took the arm he offered her. “Have you been quite busy today?” She asked as he led her to the masters’ wing.

“Always,” He looked down at her as they mounted the stairs, “I’m afraid that is a King’s lot.”

It had not always been her father’s lot. She remembered him much embroiled in affairs of state when she was small, but as she had grown she had seen him become more lax. He had become rather indulgent later in life, and had delegated many of his responsibilities to the men who advised him. She did not understand then, but it was this indulgence which had led to his early death. These events had influenced Elizabeth and her mother’s decisions to live modestly.

Elizabeth had never been in Lord Stanley’s study, in fact, she had only been to the masters’ wing only once or twice before to attend to Lady Margaret. The study was paneled in rich, dark wood, and mounted on the walls were the heads of great game Lord Stanley had got the better of. A heavy legged table dominated the very center of the room, flanked by wooden chairs with elaborately carved and painted backs. The floor was covered by a thick rug woven with many colors. The top of the table was littered with maps and scrolls with scatterings of correspondence.

“What have you been working on in here?” She asked.

“Everything under the sun, it seems.” He walked about the table and stood to look over the papers, “oaths of fealty, this man’s land, that man’s quarrel…” his voice trailed off as Elizabeth came to stand beside him. She moved some papers aside to reveal more of the map.

“Show me where you are from, Henry.” She said.

He leaned over to clear some papers from the far side of the map to reveal the far shores of Britian. “Here,” he pointed and looked to Elizabeth “Pembroke.”

She leaned over the table to get a good look, planting both hands on the table top. There in the land colored in a shade of green and on a slender arm that stretched out into the sea was a small illustration of a tower and beside it the name Pembroke in sumptuous hand. “Do you miss it?”

“Some days.” He said leaning on the table beside her, “not today.”

“Why not today?” Elizabeth asked, still studying the map - the various town names, the shape of the shorelines, the long lazy trails of the rivers, the rise of mountains shaded darker than the surrounding lands.

“I like where I am today.” He murmured, kissing her shoulder, where her shawl had slipped down onto her arm. He slowly worked a trail of kisses along her shoulder and up her neck to just behind her ear, when she giggled.

“Hmm?” He brushed his nose against her neck.

“That tickles.” She laughed. He pulled away and she adjusted her shawl. “Am I distracting you from your work?”

“Possibly.” He cleared his throat and began rearranging some things on the table.

“You haven’t even read the letter you just received yet. I should hate to keep a king from his duties.” And even as she said it she knew it was a lie, she wished silently that she could spend even more time with him, though it was hardly prudent.

He picked up the letter and broke the seal. Elizabeth couldn’t help but intently watch his face as he read, eyes scanning line after line. His light brown curls had fallen forward with his bent head to brush against the plains of his cheeks and high cheek bones. A nervous hand reached up to tuck the errant hair behind an ear as he continued to read. His eyebrows knit in consternation above his blue eyes and he bit his lower lip. 

“I – I have to go.” He said, suddenly looking up.

“Go? Now? What is it?”

“I’m needed at court.” 

“But why?”

“Something has come up that I must deal with directly.”

“Will you go tonight?”

“Yes.”

“But it is nearly dark.”

He turned to look out the window, the sun had nearly turned the sky over completely to the moon and stars, and the velvety blue darkness of night was rapidly consuming the heavens.

“Please stay. Can’t it wait till morning?”

He returned his attention to Elizabeth and his expression softened from concern to something less dire. “I thought you should hate to keep a king from his duties.”

“Yes, but I should also hate to see my betrothed ride out in the middle of a winter’s night.” She felt the feeling again, the feeling of making herself vulnerable to him. As though she had removed some a part of her clothing, laying bare some portion of her flesh. Perhaps she should not let on that he affected her so. Perhaps it was wisest to close one’s self off from another. Henry hardly ever made himself vulnerable to her, he was almost always all resolve and logic.

“I’m touched by your concern. I should hate to worry you.” He reached out a hand to lightly stroke her cheek, “I shall stay the night and ride out at first light.”

“Thank you.” She lowered her eyes, somewhat embarrassed at how she had begged him to stay.

The door Elizabeth had shut behind her upon entered swung open. Henry dropped his hand and Elizabeth curtsied as Lord Stanley entered. “Your grace.” Lord Stanley bowed, “My Lady,” he added as almost an afterthought.

“Lord Stanley, you have returned. How did you find the people?”

“Grateful, the parish priest was glad to see Lady Margaret and the alms were received with thanks. The people were particularly pleased to hear that the new King was visiting their parts.”

Henry nodded, “That’s all very well. Actually, Lord Stanley, I have just received news from court and must depart for there in the morning. Will you be accompanying me?”

“Of course, your grace.”

“We will ride with the light.” Henry said, “But we have many arrangements to make, shall we take supper here in the study Lord Stanley?”

“Yes, I shall send for it.” 

While Lord Stanley disappeared into the hall to summon a servant Henry turned to Elizabeth, clasping her hand, and stole a kiss, “We have much to go over, and now I must say goodnight.”

“I will be up to see you off in the morning.” Elizabeth promised before slipping out of the study.

Back in her own room Elizabeth took supper by herself. She had thought Henry would have stayed for longer, his presence had been a most welcome reprieve. He had cast a light into her dark world. But now the light was to be extinguished for a time. At least until he summoned her to court, and that was not to be for a few weeks’ time. 

*******

Elizabeth was awoken by the sound of… something. She rubbed her eyes and sat up against her pillows, to find the bed hangings beside her being swept to one side. She just caught the sight of dull light and supposed it was quite early. Henry stepped into view and crawled onto her bed, pulling the hangings closed behind him. “Are you awake?” He asked in nothing more than a whisper.

“Yes, what… what are you doing?” She pulled the coverlet up higher to cover her form clad only in a nightdress.

“I wanted to see you, alone, before I go.” He was dressed in his breeches and a shirt, but his dark blue doublet hung open, yet to be laced. The clean shave of yesterday had given way to stubble and his hair was uncovered and unkempt. Clearly he had just risen.

Elizabeth had never felt more vulnerable in his presence and her heart raced. Teasing and kissing had been one thing, but here he was in her bed – and that was quite another thing. “Have a safe journey.” She said, her head having gone completely empty for some reason. 

“You needn’t worry about me.” He smiled and scooted closer to where she lay. “I have many fine men around me who’s only job is to worry about me. I do not need you to do so as well.” He took her hand and kissed it, but did not let go. His head was bent in thought, and he was silent a long moment before he said, “I shall miss you while I am away.”

“Shall you?” She asked, surprised at his confession. He had only spoken his mind about his feelings one other time, and that was to tell her he found he beautiful. Somehow the admission that he would miss her seemed to strike Elizabeth more deeply. Maybe it was the realization that they were a part of each other’s lives now, or maybe it was the realization that she wanted him to miss her. For she knew she herself would eagerly await his summons.

“Yes.” He covered her hand with his other, eye still downcast, “I know we have only just met, and it sounds… all too much, but… I shall miss your company.”

He looked up to find her smiling. Elizabeth could not help but feel pleased with the idea that Henry liked her company and would be missing her. He was still holding her hand, and so she pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his momentarily. “I think I shall miss you as well, Henry Tudor.” She spoke his name with an impish curl to her lip.

“Well, that will not do.” He said, settling in beside her on the pillows, “I shall send for you just as soon as I can.” He reached up to trace a finger over the slim gold chain at her neck. “And then I shall make you my Queen.” He said quietly, almost to himself.

Elizabeth tried not to let her features betray that she had indeed heard him. He was just full of surprises this morning. It made her nervous, but not in a bad way. More like an anticipation of the unknown, of something she knew would be good. 

“I hope you will not grow weary of waiting.” He said.

“I should think I am not the only one waiting.” 

Henry turned to lie propped on one side, and leaned in to kiss her long and deep, his hand gliding down the length of her back to settle on her hip. 

After a few more minutes of lazy kisses they both emerged from her bed. Henry returned to his rooms and Elizabeth quickly dressed herself in a simple frock and her cloak before hurrying down to the front hall. There she found Lady Beaufort and Lord Stanley along with all of the King and Earl’s retainers and men. People were bustling to and fro, and the great oak doors had been thrown wide, despite the bitter cold outside.

The horses had been readied and waited in the yard, impatiently snorting and tossing their heads. The light layer of snow had all but vanished, small patches still lingered in the shadows, and the dirt road beyond the gate had turned to a mire of mud. It would be a long, unpleasant ride back to London. 

“Will you keep me abreast of all that is happening at court?” Lady Margaret was asking Lord Stanley.

“Of course,” He clasped her hands in his, “When have I ever let two days together go by without writing you?”

She seemed pleased, after her own fashion. “Please be safe.” She said softly, “And go with my blessing.”

He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, remaining a few heartbeats longer than was necessary. And then he was strutting off across the hall, beaconing Henry to him when he saw the younger man entering the hall.

Lady Margaret looped her arm with Elizabeth’s, and together the two women followed the pack of men from the house, remaining on the wide steps that led down into the yard. The men were already mounting their horses and Elizabeth searched for Henry in the square swimming with man and beast alike. He caught her eye after a moment. Winking at her he tugged his cap on snugly. 

Together Elizabeth and Lady Margaret watched as the yard emptied, men riding out the gate and off down the road. “I fear our lives shall be quiet once again for some time.” Lady Margaret said, craning her neck to see as far down the road as she could. “How did you find my son?” She asked.

“Agreeable.” Elizabeth said simply.

“He seems quite taken with you.” Lady Margaret’s face broke into a smile, something foreign to the hardened woman’s features. “Do not look so surprised. I can tell.” She led Elizabeth back into the home. “You will be a good companion to him. He has been raised to take the throne, you have been raised to sit it. Together you shall do great things.”

Elizabeth’s head spun, she had been raised to be a queen it was true. But she had been raised to marry a king of another land. To be wed to some foreign royal. He would rule and she would be his wife. She had not expected that she would take part in the ruling of any kingdom, least of all her father’s.

“But I get ahead of myself, my husband seems to think that I always do.” She continued to lead Elizabeth through the house, treading that old familiar path to the chapel. 

They received mass together in the chapel, then knelt in contemplation and prayer for what felt to Elizabeth to be hours. She prayed for Henry’s safety on the road, she prayed for her mother’s and sisters, she prayed for the kingdom, and last of all she prayed for her own happiness. She felt a little wicked doing so, she knew it was not exactly right. One ought not to pray for happiness, but rather pray that the will of God be done, but she thought God would understand and perhaps forgive her.

After they had received the holy sacraments both women made the sign of the cross and left the chapel with stiff knees.

The days eked by, melting together into a cycle of mass, dinner, embroidery, lute playing, and correspondence. The promised summons seemed ever on the horizon. She knew it would come, but it was ever out of reach. 

One morning, as she was listening to Lady Margaret read in semi-incomprehensible Latin from her Bible, a small dispatch arrived with a cart. Even Lady Margaret put down her reading to join Elizabeth at the window. 

“What are they here for?” Elizabeth asked.

“I hardly know.” Margaret said, hitching up her skirts before she made for the hall at an impatient clip. Elizabeth followed hurridly. 

The turned out to be dress makers, sent from court, to fit her with several new gowns. The fabric and cuts had all be preapproved. Men dragged into the great hall trunk after trunk of fabric. The dress makers threw open the trunks and began their work. Standing Elizabeth on a low stool they began draping her in cloth, pinning here and tucking there, folding this and stitching that. It had been ages since Elizabeth had a new gown made and she all but reveled in the idea of arriving at court with all new clothes. She felt like a little girl again.

The small arm of dress makers worked at a whirl wind speed, creating whole gowns in a matter of hours. At the end of the day the dress makers had tucked their wares back into the trunks and trundled off. 

Elizabeth expected that her summons would be forthcoming, in light of her new wardrobe. And she was not disappointed. In a matter of days she had received the hoped for message, though not from Henry himself. It was a formal document, all stiff and standard language, elegantly written by some clerk and signed in the bottom margin by Henry. But it was the promised summon.

Her life was about to change entirely, and Elizabeth could feel it.


	4. Not the Same

A particularly sharp jolt woke Elizabeth from her fitful nap. Never for a moment, even in her shallow sleep, did Elizabeth forget just where she was. 

The landscape outside had changed little since she last saw it. Verdant swells of rolling hills alternating with thick stands of sturdy trees. The sun hung lower in the sky now than it had when last she had peeked out the small window.

“Soon it shall be yours.” Lady Margaret said.

“My lady?” Elizabeth turned to face the older woman beside her, her traveling companion.

“The land. It shall be yours, and Henry’s. Your kingdom.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It isn’t really about the land. It is about the people.” She said, “They can be good, they can be bad. They can be faithful, and they can be treasonous. But soon they will be in your care and their welfare will be entrusted into your hands. It is important that you understand that.”

Elizabeth swallowed hard. People often forgot about the ugliness that came with ruling. People glorified the King in times of peace and forgot the battles he must fight. While in the times of war they would blame the king and forget the good things he had done for his people. Elizabeth herself was guilty of forgetting the immense burden of responsibility she would take on when she herself took St. Edward’s chair.

“I know it must be a lot to comprehend, Lady Elizabeth.” She placed a hand on Elizabeth’s forearm. “I have watched you, you are patient and kind. You are fit, I assure you.” This was the highest compliment a hardened, and sometimes arrogant, woman like Margaret Beaufort could pay. “Of course, Henry knows little of English politics and customs. You may have to guide him and help him from time to time.”

In time the country landscape gave way to small towns and villages, and eventually the crowded urban sprawl of London. The streets were packed with men hawking their wares, women bouncing babies on their knees, beasts being driven to market, and many more scenes of everyday life. The passing of a carriage did not go unnoticed. Most lifted their heads to watch as they rolled through the streets. Before long they were passing through the Bishopsgate, as Henry himself had done for the first time only months ago, and into London proper. 

The carriage rumbled through the streets and between two gate houses. Attendants stood ready in the yard to receive them. The stable boys ran forward to brush down the horses, a man came forward to open the door to the carriage, and another hurried forward to help the two women down. Lord Stanley came to greet them, and after pressing a kiss to his wife’s cheek, began, “His grace regrets that he cannot be here now to see your arrival at court, but he will receive you directly in the throne room.”

Surprisingly Lady Margaret did not seem to take offense at her son’s absence. “Then we shall go to him.” 

Once inside Elizabeth noticed that nothing much had changed physically at court, but it felt different. She supposed each King had a different atmosphere to their court. Her father’s had been jovial and indulgent in later years, hardly a fit place for the princess she had been. Her Uncle Richard’s court had been moral, but with a sense of darkness to it. She would have to wait and see what kind of a court her betrothed kept.

Lady Margaret and Elizabeth were escorted by Lord Stanley and some retainers through the halls to the throne room. As the doors to the familiar throne room were thrown open ahead of them Elizabeth bowed her head in subservience. Where once she had been a princess and would have held her head high in such a room, she was now nothing more than a title deprived bastard, albeit one with more royal blood in her veins than any in the room. “My Lady the King’s Mother, Lady Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby.” The herald called, “And Lady Elizabeth of York.” 

Elizabeth kept her eyes downcast as she walked a pace behind Lady Margaret towards the throne at the far end of the room. The room was quiet save for the soft murmurs and whispers of those who watched the two women progress across the vast hall. Elizabeth stopped when Lady Margaret did, and while the older woman merely dipped her chin to her ruler and son, Elizabeth made a deep curtsey. 

“My Lady Mother, how did you find your journey?” 

“Perfectly fine, your grace.”

“I am rather sorry that I was not able to receive you personally.”

Elizabeth stood and looked up to find Henry seated on the throne, content to tune out Henry and his mother’s conversation. Was this really the same man who had teased her, who had played at cards with her, who had let down her hair, who had crept into her bed in the wee hours of the morning? Back at Lady Margaret’s home she had almost let herself forget that he was king, and had begun to think of him as a companion. Yet here he was, commanding and bright at the very center of court, every inch the King of England. She chanced a peek about her, all eyes were on Henry. He was quite intriguing to watch, the multitude of expressions on his face, he could almost be read and comprehended simply by sight.

“And you, Lady Elizabeth?” She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts, Elizabeth had failed to hear all but the tail end of the question her sovereign had posed to her. She licked her lips and her cheeks went hot. Without turning to look, she could feel Lady Margaret’s gaze bearing down on her. Her eyes searched Henry’s for a possible hint or clue, moment after agonizing moment dragged by as she struggled to formulate an appropriate response. Though there was no excuse for not listening to her King when he spoke.

She took a deep breath. “Your grace, I do apolo-“

“I am sorry Lady Elizabeth” he interrupted her gently, “What I meant to say was that I hope that you will be comfortable here at court.” She silently thanked the Lord that Henry had saved her from embarrassment. 

“I think I shall be very comfortable. My thanks, your grace, for seeing fit to allow me to come.”

“I know you ladies must be road weary, and so I shall not keep you from resting before the banquet tonight.”

Elizabeth curtsied yet again and retreated from the hall with Lady Margaret. They were shown to their individual apartments. Elizabeth’s apartments were lovely, though not so grand as her mother’s or her own had been. Then again she was neither queen nor princess. Her trunks had already been hauled into the room, and some of her personal belongings and effects were being laid out by a mousey maid who introduced herself as Maude. 

The room was hung with decidedly plain tapestries and her four poster bed was narrow but comfortable, she discovered when she rested on it while surveying the room. Compared to sanctuary, the apartments could have been those of the King himself. Elizabeth lounged on the bed, happy to be back in the place that had brought her so much happiness as a child. For the first time in years she felt like she could be herself and not the scared and suspicious girl she had been for so long.

Elizabeth had not meant to take a nap, but when Maude came to wake her and dress her Elizabeth was surprised to find that the sleep she did not know she needed had done her some good. Elizabeth picked out a deep green silk dress edged in gold ribbon. She knew that perhaps she dressed a bit above her station, but she did not think that anyone would mind. She suspected that any man who complained would not get very far, for she harbored a notion Henry would be lenient with her.

Her hair was let down, combed out, and then arranged in a neat braid interwoven with a bit of gold ribbon. The slim gold chain at her neck was the only jewelry that adorned Elizabeth, indeed it was the only jewelry she owned. 

The halls were crowded with people from dukes and duchesses to serving boys. The court was coming out in droves for the banquet.

“Oh Lady Elizabeth, there you are!” Lord Stanley strode to her, Lady Margaret gliding along at his arm. “Come!” The entered the grand dining hall together. Many were already within, figuring out where they wanted to sit, and where it was appropriate for them to sit. Elizabeth was surprised when she was led up to the head table. The ornate chair reserved for the king under the cloth of estate was vacant, the king would join them once all had arrived. Lord Stanley sat to the right of the king’s chair while Lady Margaret took up the chair to the left. “And you shall sit here, child.” She indicated the seat beside her. Elizabeth was to be only one seat removed from the King.

“Are you quite sure, Lady Margaret?” She was not kin to the king, nor was she of noble enough standing to merit the honor.

“Yes, I am quite sure. Besides, no one will question it. You are a special guest of myself and the King.”

Elizabeth quietly slipped into the chair and surveyed the lower tables. Some faces were familiar, from her days past at court, but many were new. Some had managed to hold on to their titles and their lives in the years of upheaval, but many titles had been passed on to new comers. 

Quietly some musicians slipped into the room and began setting up at the far end of the hall with their instruments. Elizabeth noticed that the lower tables all hugged the walls, leaving plenty of room in the middle of the hall. The familiar arrangement suggested that there was to be dancing after dinner.

Once King Henry had entered and all were seated a splendid dinner was served, course after course accompanied by music and some entertainment in the form of fools and brief morality plays. Elizabeth spoke some with Lady Margaret and was included in conversations between her and King Henry occasionally.

Once they had ate their fill the dancing began, and the cups were refilled with wine as pastries and sweets were brought out. Men and women of all ages and stations crowded the dance floor, eager to participate in the dancing. Elizabeth herself dearly missed dancing, she had had neither the opportunity nor the companion for the past few years. Though she had danced some at her Uncle’s court, she had soon been banished by Richard to Sherrifhutton after a series of rumors and accusations. Elizabeth immediately pressed the thought back into the recesses of her mind, she had told herself that she would never think of such times and such things, especially the ugly and disgusting rumors which turned her stomach. 

She focused on the lively folks in front of her dancing happily, on the beautiful music which was skillfully played, on her cup of fine wine, on the deliciously sweet pastry she had been served.

“Mother, won’t you and Lord Stanley dance?” Henry gently suggested.

“Henry?” Lady Margaret’s face was etched with surprise.

“Yes, of course, you do not dance.” He laughed, clearly a few cups of wine deep already.

“I most certainly do not.” She pursed her lips, “However, Lord Stanley and I will take a turn about the room, we have many friends and acquaintances to see.”

No sooner had Lady Margaret vacated her chair than Henry was gesturing to Elizabeth to fill it.

“Your grace?”

“Come, come.”

Elizabeth slid into the chair beside Henry, sitting so she faced him, her forearms resting on the arm of the chair. “Yes?” 

“I simply wanted to say hello, properly.” He mirrored her position, sitting to face her, and indicated the court below them, “Not in front of everyone.”

She understood, he disliked the formality, the pointless traditions, as much as she did. “And now you have said your hello.”

“Are you cross with me, Lady Elizabeth?” His expression was that of concern.

“Hardly.”

“Do you feel slighted that it took me so long to send for you?” Upon further inspection, she found that the expression was decidedly that of mock concern.

“Certainly not.”

“I have sent for the papal dispensation.” 

“Did not you have one already? I thought that with the betrothal…. Certainly you would have asked for one then”

“Yes, but for a Henry Richmond and an Elizabeth Plantagenet. Which will not do.”

“Do you think it likely that we – ah, that you shall receive this dispensation shortly?”

“Yes, certainly.”

“And what makes you so certain?”

He slipped her hand into his, intertwining his fingers with hers, “I have described to his holiness your most amiable qualities. His holiness cannot and will not refuse.” There seemed to be an implication there, an implication that he wanted her to trust him.

Henry dropped her hand when he noticed Sir George Stanley approaching the head table. “Your grace, I beg your pardon.”

“Nonsense, Sir George!” Henry smiled.

“It is only,” he looked to Elizabeth, “I wished to ask Lady Elizabeth to dance.”

“I would be glad to, Sir George.” She said, standing and coming about the table to take his hand and be led out to the dance.

Sir George, the eldest of Lord Stanley’s sons, was only a few years older than Elizabeth. She remembered him from her father’s court vaguely. He was a good dancer, and moved through the steps just as easily as she herself did. It felt good to be enjoying herself again, to be participating in something with other people. Sir George led her in two dances before rejoining his pregnant wife at one of the lower tables. From there Elizabeth was passed off from one partner to the next in dance after dance. She noticed Henry on the dance floor as well, dancing with partner after partner. She danced until her lungs burned from laughing and her head spun from twirling to and fro, and she had to decline yet another dance.

Standing on the verge of the dancefloor, Elizabeth clapped along to the music and watched the dancers gaily parade up and down the floor, before she felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning she saw Henry just behind her, “Some wine?” He asked, handing her a cup.

“Thank you.”

“You dance well.”

“Would you dance with me?”

He shook his head, “you are still fatigued. I would not tire you so.”

“I am not fatigued.” She countered, sipping the wine.

“Yes you are.” He smirked, “your cheeks are still red. I shall dance with you only once you have caught your breath.” 

She tipped back her cup, “As my king commands.”

“Are you comfortable here? Are your apartments comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you. And thank you for bringing me here.”

“I am pleased to have you here at court.”

“Well, then I am pleased that you are pleased.” She retorted playfully.

Henry gave her a secretive, close lipped grin, “You do please me, quite.”

“Your grace!” She nearly laughed in surprise.

“Surely, you must know.”

And a small part of her admitted that he was, indeed, correct. She did know that Henry found her pleasing, in fact she suspected that he rather fancied her. Her own feelings, however, made far less sense to her.

Some Lord or other came up to them begging a word with King Henry, who led the man off for a more private discussion. And so Elizabeth was left alone with her cup of wine. She was content to watch the dancers for a time. Henry kept getting pulled aside for conversation after conversation with this noble and that. Feeling well knackered, Elizabeth said her goodnights to Lady Margaret and Lord Stanley before slipping out of the hall and into the corridor. Between the trip to court, the dancing, and the wine she was quite wore out. She would simply have to beg the promised dance of Henry when next she had the opportunity. 

Back in her rooms Madge helped Elizabeth out of her gown and tended to the fire before disappearing for the night. Elizabeth combed out her hair with some small difficulty, which she attributed to the wine, and wrapped a shawl about her shoulders before she heard some light knocking at her door. Padding across the floor bare footed, she opened the door a crack to find Henry.

“Henry!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him into the room, lest someone in the corridor should see him loitering at her door. 

He in turn shut the door behind him as he collected her to himself and kissed her fiercely. Elizabeth was completely taken aback. And in a moment’s time even Henry seemed surprised at his own actions, for he released her and stepped back. “My apologies, my lady.” He said, cheeks reddening.

“Was there something you wanted?” She asked.

He looked her up and down, “I did not see you leave the banquet, and merely… wanted to say goodnight.” He seemed a little lost, perhaps he was still feeling the effects of the wine himself, “And that I am sorry I was unable to dance with you, as I said I would.”

“There is no need for an apology.” She attempted to cover as much of herself as possible with her shawl, a tricky game she eventually gave up on. “Are you sure you wanted to say goodnight? You don’t want to stay?” She asked when she found him still standing there looking at her.

“Maybe, just for a moment.”

She gestured to a chair, and he took it. Elizabeth turned to take a chair, herself, when she felt Henry’s hands on her waist, pulling her down into his lap. She immediately bent down and kissed him, her body failing to consult properly with her mind before doing so. His hands roamed her form, causing her to lose her shawl. Elizabeth failed to understand why she felt so completely comfortable, when reason told her she should not. Her fingers tangled in his hair and she let herself get swept away.

Henry broke away and sat back in the chair, Elizabeth still perched on his lap. The wine had softened his features, on his mouth played a grin and his eyes twinkled with mischievousness. He reached up to stroke her cheek, “shall we?” He winked and nodded his chin towards the bed.

Nerves suddenly consumed the feeling of comfort Elizabeth had been experiencing. Surely he could not mean what she thought he meant? “But…” She said softly, unable to collect her thoughts.

“We are pledged, as good as married. The dispensation will be here soon enough.” He let his hand drop to rest on her thigh.

Elizabeth felt emboldened by the wine that clouded her mind. “As good as married is not the same as married.” She said quietly, equally afraid of compromising her morals as she was of evoking the wrath of her king.

“Do you think I will not wed you?” He asked. “I have made a pledge, Lady Elizabeth.”

She couldn’t meet his eye, “Men brake their pledges every day.”

“Kings do not.” He sighed, a draw a hand over his face to rub his eyes, and Elizabeth was sure she had greatly displeased him by not acquiescing to his desires. “But,” he said, “I respect you, Lady Elizabeth, and I respect your values.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Thank you.”

He sat forward and pressed his lips to hers, holding her to him. “They were looking at you tonight.” He said after they broke apart.

“Who?”

“Everyone.” He swept a hand from her shoulder down her back, “They were all saying how well you looked, and how fine you were, and how pleased they were that you had come to court at last.”

“Hmm?”

“They love you. The people, they love you.” She was surprised to hear so. She supposed it was down to the love the people had borne for her father. Though, it would have been hard to dislike her father, the man was so singularly charming. “If they love you, perhaps they will come to love me as well.”

“They already do, Henry.” She said, placing a hand on his chest, “In your throne room today, everyone was watching you. And at the banquet, did not many men ask you for guidance and aid? They trust you, and do not love and trust help one another on?”

It was his turn to look surprised. “Do they really trust me?”

“Don’t they?”

He seemed to contemplate this, absentmindedly stroking her hair, “Perhaps you are right.”

“Henry, you seem tired. Perhaps you should say your goodnights after all.”

“I think you are right again, my Lady.” He said planting a kiss on her cheek, “good night.” He murmured before moving to kiss her lips.

Elizabeth walked him to the door where he stole one last kiss before disappearing out into the corridor.

The next few days she did not see Henry. Though she knew Kings had myriad responsibilities they would see to. Lady Margaret proved to be a faithful companion, often sending for Elizabeth to join her in her apartments, or to accompany her on walks in the garden, or to attend mass with her. There were scant other women at court. With no queen there was no queen’s household. There were no ladies in waiting, no noble maidens, no other women of rank, aside from the women who dared to accompany her noble husbands. 

Though Lady Margaret was an agreeable companion, Elizabeth began to long for the company of her mother or sisters. She knew her mother would hardly be accepted at court. The dowager queen was disliked by the same who had loved her husband. The day he died they had all but turned on her. No, her mother would never be accepted at court. But she dared to hope that Cecily could be invited. Lady Margaret seemed to think that Cecily would be a perfectly acceptable addition to the household she was planning for Elizabeth. After all, in light of the recent annulment of her marriage to Ralph Scrope, Cecily would soon be the unattached sister of the queen. Thereby making her one of the most eligible bachelorettes in England. Elizabeth hoped that she could enjoy the company of her sister before arranging an advantageous marriage for her.

As Christmastime wore on more and more nobles came to court, and the palace was positively overrun. And, to make things all the more interesting, Henry had called a parliament.


	5. The Border

The delicate voices of the small boys joined together in a beautiful te deum. Soft, unobtrusive, and pious. Elizabeth closed her eyes and contemplated what she had understood of the mass she had just received. Her Latin was not as good as it once had been, and it had never been all that good to begin with. Beside her Lady Margaret’s fingers played over the beads of the rosary wound over her knuckles, as she gazed upon the carved wood crucifix that hung in the apse. She knew what Lady Margaret prayed for, for Elizabeth had been praying the same prayers all week long as well.

King Henry, Lord Stanley, Bedford, Sir George, and a whole host of others had ridden out days ago to deal with an uprising to the north, at the border. Parliament had been postponed, as a result. Before departing, Henry had promised both his mother and his betrothed that he would return safely. “Not a scratch,” Lady Margaret had demanded of her King, then shot a look to Stanley, as if imparting the same warning to him. Elizabeth could not tell if she meant that Stanley should not allow Henry to be hurt, or if Stanley himself was to keep out of harm’s way. It was possible the shrewd woman meant both.

The choristers had long since departed the chapel, and others had also crept quietly from the nave, leaving only a few still kneeling in prayer. It was nearly Christmastime, a time when the court was usually festooned with decorations and packed full of those wishing to celebrate in style. At this time of the year her father would normally be planning a grand banquet, trying to outdo the one he had held the year prior. But the halls of the court were hollow, those that hadn’t joined the King on his mission had returned to their own homes. 

Elizabeth would never admit it, but she was slightly disappointed. She had been rather looking forward to celebrating a lavish Christmas at court. But, it did not look like it would be a happy season.

Lady Margaret stood and Elizabeth followed suit, together the two women exited the silent chapel. The corridors were empty save for a guard here, or a maid there. There will still a few at court, but there was nothing to drag them out of their respective apartments except the occasional letter from the North.

Back in Lady Margaret’s apartments Elizabeth took up her lute and sat by the window, as she had been making a habit of doing lately, while Lady Margaret settled in at her writing desk. Elizabeth always saw Lady Margaret fielding copious correspondence, and she always wondered who with. But she never dared to ask. The woman operated more like a man, and preferred to be treated as such on most occasions, Elizabeth had found, and she obediently accommodated. 

“I have asked your sister, Lady Cecily, to come to court.” Margaret said after some time.

Elizabeth’s fingers stilled over the strings she had been idly strumming. “Oh?”

“Yes, she has assured me that she should be conducted here by next week.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“Lady Elizabeth?”

“Yes.”

“What is that song you play?” 

“Which one, my lady?”

Lady Margaret turned in her chair to face Elizabeth, resting her arm over the back, “You know, the same one you have been playing all week. I have never heard it before. Of course, I am not so fond of music, and hardly profess to know all songs. But it seems… unusual.”

Elizabeth tuned a string on the instrument as she sheepishly responded, “It is a song of my own creation.”

“Are you a musician, Lady Elizabeth?”

“A poor one.” She smiled meekly.

“Do not be so modest. You play well, I think.”

“Thank you, Lady Margaret.”

“So, I see you can dance, play music, compose music, embroider, read, write… you seem to have been raised well.”

“I was a princess, my lady.” Elizabeth reminded her gently.

“Yes, I know.” Margaret said dismissively. “I only wonder,”

“Ma’am?”

“What do you know of government?”

Elizabeth nearly dropped her lute, “I beg your pardon, my lady?” It was a curious thing to ask. Certainly she had never heard another woman speak thusly. Elizabeth hardly knew if such notions were proper, though she suspected they were not. 

“Government. Economics, politics, you know.” 

“I am but a woman, my lady, I did not receive the same education as my brothers.”

Margaret arched an eyebrow and smiled wickedly at her. “Come now, Lady Elizabeth, I hardly expect you had a tutor for such things. You are an intelligent girl. Certainly you have received a fine education from life itself, having grown up at court.”

“I – I…” Elizabeth stammered, “I do understand somethings. Not as well as a man, of course, but I do have a limited knowledge of these sorts of things.”

“Of course you do.” Margaret said, somewhat more satisfied. “You should not feel that you are inferior just because you are a woman. A woman does not inherently lack knowledge. Just as a woman does not inherently lack power. A woman can have power equal to a man, though it may be different.” She looked at directly at Elizabeth, “do you comprehend me?”

“I think I do, my lady.” Elizabeth had the feeling she was doing something naughty, in speaking of such things with another woman.

“A woman who has the ear and the confidence of a powerful man can do many things.” She said, “And I will simply leave it at that. Do not devalue the knowledge and education that you do have, my Lady Elizabeth, simply because you were born a woman. You know more than you think you do.”

Elizabeth nodded as Lady Margaret turned back to her desk. “Of course, you know to keep these sorts of conversations to yourself. Soon you shall have access to the most powerful man in the whole of England, discretion shall be key for you.”

“Yes, Lady Margaret.” Elizabeth said, casting her eyes back out the window.

****

Days slipped by, like waves lapping at the shore, unchanging. Christmas was nearly upon them. Elizabeth was beginning to lose hope entirely that theirs was to be a Christmastime of celebration. Until, when one evening as she and Lady Margaret were studying their prayer books in Lady Margaret’s apartments she heard the sound of horseshoes clattering on the cobblestones in the yard. It was the most activity the great palace had had for nearly two weeks.

Elizabeth and Lady Margaret darted to the window with equal haste to peer out below into the blue cast dimness of a winter evening. A contingent of riders had arrived and were dismounting with weary haste. There had been no forerunner sent to announce their return, but Elizabeth knew instinctively it was the King and his men at last.

Within moments Lord Stanley was bursting into Lady Margaret’s apartments. “Your son, the King, and I have returned. Triumphant and unharmed.” He said, kneeling before Lady Margaret whose hand he kissed.

“What more could I ask for?” Delight played over her features.

Lord Stanley stood, “Those Northern bastards are a hardy bunch, but we were able to get the better of them and the uprising was quelled.”

“You must tell me everything.” Lady Margaret said.

“I shall leave you to enjoy the company of you wife, Lord Stanley.” Elizabeth said rising, lute in hand. “I am so glad you arrived back safely.”

“Thank you, Lady Elizabeth.” Lord Stanley said as she slipped from the apartments and out into the corridor beyond.

****

Elizabeth woke earlier than usual to an uncommonly cold room. She resisted the urge to snuggle down further in her blankets, and rather crept beyond the heavy brocade hangings of her narrow bed. The room outside was even colder, and as Elizabeth went to fetch a wrap from the oak chest at the foot of her bed she chanced to catch a glimpse out the window. 

The word beyond her little room was blanketed in a downy layer of white snow. Not the thin wisp of a frost she had experienced back at Collyweston. But a real, proper snow. The kind that weighed on the limbs of trees, that packed atop the crenelations to make them more imposing, that carpeted the yards and lawns and squares.

She studied the wonderful whiteness as she shrugged on the wrap, wigging her toes in her sheepskin slippers. The snow reminded her, inexplicably or not, of that wonderful day hunting at Collyweston. That day had been perfect. 

Elizabeth was still at the window when Maude came to dress her for the day, in a gown of deep red silk edged in gold and white ribbon. Her hair was dressed into a plait and her matching hood was secured with pins. Soon she was off to yet another mass before taking breakfast in her rooms by herself.

There was a knock at the door, and Elizabeth crossed the room to find Lady Margaret. “Did you hear?” She asked, sweeping into the Elizabeth’s cramped apartment, which was far less stately that the King’s Mother’s.

“My lady?” She asked, automatically heading for the sideboard to pour wine while Lady Margaret seated herself at the small table Elizabeth’s breakfast had just recently been cleared of.

“King Henry called a Parliament this morning.” The only thing Lady Margaret liked more than having the latest news was dangling it out before another. Clearly Lady Margaret had something of great interest to Elizabeth to announce.

“Did he?” Elizabeth set the cups down before seating herself opposite the other woman.

“There were many interesting matters to discuss.” 

“I am sure there were.” Elizabeth said, disaffectedly sipping her wine. She didn’t like playing these sorts of games, perhaps if she acted uninterested enough the woman would simply out with it.

“Uprisings here, pretenders there, possible treaties, affairs of state, the welfare of the kingdom.”

Elizabeth nodded.

“Lord Stanley says they were nearly done, and all were quite ready to leave when he raised one last matter to the King’s attention.”

“Yes?”

“He informed the King that it was the peoples’ wish that he take you as a wife.”

It was everything Elizabeth could do not to shake the woman to get the news out faster, Lady Margaret was relishing dragging out the story far too much.

“And the King said that he would be, and I quote, very happy to take you as his wife.”

Elizabeth felt a grin spreading across her face and bit her lip to quell the outward manifestation of her most inner joy. “Did he really say that?” She ran a finger over the lip of her cup idly before looking up.

Lady Margaret’s lip twisted at the corner, “I am afraid he did.”

“Then I shall be most happy to comply.” She downed the last of her wine.

Later that day Elizabeth’s things were moved and she was established in an apartment to rival the stateliness of Lady Margaret’s, with various chambers, and a grand four poster bed hung with elegant maroon and silver brocade with touches of forest green here and there. Those she passed in the corridors bobbed curtseys or bowed to her when she passed. She was assigned a new trio of maids to join Maude. 

She had always been favored at court, and always had been granted an informal level of deference no matter her status or titles. But this was different. In a day she felt she had become queen in all but name.

She was lounging on her bed that evening reading a letter from Cecily, whose letter expressed her unbridled joy at being summoned to court and her excited anticipation of their reunion, when a squire was admitted to her apartment by one of her maids.

“His grace, The King, wishes to see you.” The squire announced after bowing.

Elizabeth followed the young man through the palace to the King’s apartments. She had been wondering when she would get to see Henry next, but she had not expected at all for him to have her fetched to his chambers thus. But she complied nonetheless.

She was escorted into the apartments and through to a door, where the squire knocked. “Yes?” Was the call from within.

“Lady Elizabeth of York, your grace.” The squire responded loudly.

“Come in.”

The squire opened the door and ushered Elizabeth into the room, closing the door behind her.

Elizabeth found herself in a study. Her father’s study. She remembered the room well, oversized wood desk, large high-backed chair, giant fireplace. But it was not her father behind the desk anymore, it was Henry. Tall, slender Henry Tudor with his auburn curls and quick blue eyes. He was sat in the chair, bent over his work. He looked up when she entered, features immediately lighting up.

“Lady Elizabeth.” He stood.

“Your…. Henry.” 

He grinned at her gaff. “I suppose you know by now.”

“Know what?” She stepped closer to the desk between them.

“About Parliament this morning.”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I am sorry, I do not.”

“I do not believe you, Lady Elizabeth.” He laughed, “For I have had you established in new apartments, you can hardly expect me to believe you do not know.”

“You can hardly expect that I do not wish to hear you tell me yourself.” She countered.

He looked down at the carpet and smiled, shaking his head. “Fine, I shall.”

“And I shall feign surprise.” She offered.

“Lady Elizabeth, I called a Parliament this morning and a most curious petition was brought to my attention.”

“Oh?”

He came around the desk, “Yes, I have been petitioned to marry.”

“And who, pray tell, is the most fortunate young lady?”

He took both her hands, “Lady Elizabeth of York.”

“And what did you say?” 

“What could I say? I was powerless. My people demanded it.”

“You poor thing.” She teased as he kissed her hands.

“I told them that I would most certainly take you as wife, and that nothing should make me happier.” He tipped her chin towards him and kissed her slowly. “I have missed you while I have been away.”

“But you had so much to do, a rebellion to quash, men to lead, strategies to plan… how could you possibly have time to miss me?”

“One hardly has to find time to miss another, they simply do.” He responded. “And you… Did you miss me, Lady Elizabeth?” 

She looked up into his eyes, his face etched with concern. His brow was heavy above his crystalline blue eyes as he earnestly awaited her answer. Did he truly not know? She reached up to tuck a lock of his somewhat unruly hair behind his ear, and let her hand linger on his cheek. “Of course I did.” She stepped closer to him, and let her hand fall to his shoulder as she pressed her cheek to his chest. “Every day.”

Henry wrapped her arms around her. Something about the embrace felt more intimate than a kiss, maybe it was his heart beat that she could hear just under his velvet doublet. Maybe it was the way they had admitted their lives felt incomplete without the other. 

“I have something for you.” Henry said, breaking away and going around to the far side of the desk. “I know it is not quite Christmas yet, but I have a gift for you.”

“Oh, but Henry, I do not have a gift for you!” Elizabeth admitted clumsily.

“Nonsense. Besides this is merely a token.” 

She could hear the sounds of a drawer being pulled open and Henry produced a small blue velvet pouch. He came back around to hand it to her. “Go on, open it.”

Timidly Elizabeth loosened the drawstring closure and shook the contents out into the palm of her hand. It was a medallion. A gold cross, set in the center with a rectangular cut sapphire, each of the four ends of the cross was crested with small clusters of pearls.

“I took the liberty of having it commissioned for you. It only arrived today from the jeweler.” Henry said, Elizabeth could tell he was watching her intently. “Do you like it?”

“It’s absolutely beautiful, Henry.” She breathed.

“I noticed you had that chain,” He motioned to her neck, “and I thought, maybe, well…”

“No, it’s perfect.” 

“There is to be a banquet tomorrow night. Say you’ll wear it then.” 

She smiled, everyone would know he had given it to her, she could hardly afford such costly trinkets herself. “I shall wear it then.” She slipped the cross back into the pouch. “This is a most thoughtful gift.” Elizabeth said as she placed it on his desk. “Thank you, Henry.” She stood on tip toe to kiss him. Henry pulled her closer to him, hands about her waist. She had missed him. She had missed this. This closeness. This intimacy. And for a moment she allowed herself to dare to hope that their impending marriage would be a happy one. She dared to hope that she could grow to love and trust him in a way she never thought possible.


	6. Arrow to the Heart

Everyone was looking. No, not looking, staring. She had to admit it was somewhat scandalous, but the King had insisted and she knew that no one would dare to question him. Henry entered the great hall from a door behind the high table and seated himself. Once he was seated, the others in the hall took their respective places.

Elizabeth smoothed out the nonexistent wrinkles of her deep green gown trimmed with gold ribbon and pearls. It was her nicest dress, outside of the wedding gown which the seamstresses were still working on. She had forsaken her hood that evening to instead wear her golden ringlets in a plait strung with pearls and had crowned herself with a diadem of ivy. 

The musicians struck up a happy tune and the people began chattering as the food was brought out on heavy laden serving trays.

“How are you this evening, Lady Elizabeth?” Henry asked turning to face her.

“Quite well, your grace.” Elizabeth had been told she was to be seated to the King’s right. Lady Margaret was at his left, and Lord Stanley was beside his wife. Her assigned seat had been at the request of the King himself, a place reserved for a consort, though she was not one quite yet. And this had not gone unnoticed.

“You look… lovely.” He said.

Of course he thought so, she was wearing a gown he'd had made for her while she was at Collyweston and a necklace he'd had commissioned specifically for her. “Only through your generosity.”

“I cannot take credit for your features and overall pleasing manner.” He chuckled as a man forked some ham into his trencher. 

While Elizabeth felt pleased at Henry’s treatment of her in giving her things and placing her in a seat of honor, she couldn’t help but feel a little, well, used. She was beginning to feel that she was quite under his thumb; made to sit where he told her, dress as he prescribed, and be paraded out before the court at his pleasure. The thought had entered her mind that she was like to a tool to him, a tool whose purpose was to garner for the King popularity.

But she knew that this was how political marriages were. While they bore the name marriage, in reality they operated as an alliance. She had thought for a time that she and Henry may have something different, but she was beginning to realize that perhaps she had been wrong, and she internally chastised herself for being so foolish.

As they ate various performances were had to amuse the King and his guests; morality plays, singers, musicians, poetry, fools. Course after course was served, Elizabeth only took a bite of each before the serving trays were taken down to the lower tables. No person could have possibly ate full servings of all the courses. Crispy roast duck, peas swimming in butter, hearty beef stew, thick slices of dense bread, savory pies, and on and on and on. The only thing she could stomach was enough Christmas ale to get through the whole thing. 

The event was very sumptuous, not unlike the Christmastime banquets her father had held. The hall was hung with evergreen boughs, and ivy covered the high table. All of the good plate had been brought down for those at the high table to eat off of, and all had dressed in their absolute best. Before long the courtiers were dancing, or at least trying to after all the food and ale they had consumed. Henry begged off to speak to some of his counselors, so Elizabeth went down to join in on the card playing that had begun at some of the lower tables.

Elizabeth could not resist but to try her hand at one of the popular new card games at court. A game of chance with a gamble. She didn’t have much money to gamble, but one hand could not hurt, besides, it was Christmas after all. The dealer dealt her a fair hand and she managed to win a small gain – which she immediately used to fund a second hand. And then a third. And before she knew it she was placing bets larger than she had made an allowance for herself this evening. But she was on top of the game and luck was on her side.

“One more hand!” She begged, when all the others had folded, “Just, one more game.” She sipped her ale as the dealer reluctantly dealt again. She frowned at her cards. They were all low when she needed high, and of mismatched suits. Her luck had turned, fortune had forsaken her. She was out before she knew it, and with a hefty sum to pay. 

“That’s £12, Lady Elizabeth.” Jasper Tudor said, eyes bright with the anticipation of payment.

Elizabeth hesitated before reaching for the pouch at her waist.

“I can speak for the Lady Elizabeth’s bet.” Came Henry’s voice from behind her.

Elizabeth’s cheeks flushed impulsively, “I can always speak for the bets I place.” She tried to keep from her tone the indignation she felt.

“But it is such a great sum, I would feel…”

“It’s quite alright, your grace.” She said briskly as she placed the money on the table in the midst of the players, and stood.

“How about that dance I promised you?” He asked, once they were out of earshot of those at the table.

“I beg your pardon, but I do not feel like dancing.” She said hastily.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, quite.” She began walking. Where? She did not know.

Henry was on her heels, moving quickly to keep up with her. “Lady Elizabeth?”

“Your grace.”

He placed a hand on her arm to guide her to a window embrasure, and she allowed him to lead her a moment before slipping out of his grasp. 

“Are you upset?” His face was a mask of intent confusion.

“No.” She muttered softly.

He pursed his lips and wrinkled his nose. She could tell he probably knew she was lying. “Have I done something to make you cross with me?”

“No.” She croaked, unable to meet his eye.

There was a long, pregnant silence. He crossed his arms over his chest and she fidgeted with the tail end of her plait which she had drawn over her shoulder. “Are you overtired?” He finally asked.

“I am just a sore loser. That is all.” She fibbed with a note of finality to what she said.

He did not exactly believe her, and she could tell. “In that case, would you please indulge me in a dance? Just one dance, I promise.” He held out his hand to her.

She took the offered hand. Her actions had confused him some, and she felt she needed to make up for it somehow. Not out of some sense of compassion, but out of a sense of duty to make things work between them. Even if only on the surface.

The King led her out to the floor, just as a new dance was starting. Henry proved to be more than an able dancer, light on his feet and sure of the steps. Elizabeth found herself getting swept up into the joy of dancing, and even allowed a smile to creep up onto her features. But she knew that she should not let herself believe that this was anything more than innocent fun. Which was harder than it seemed, with Henry openly smiling at her and holding her in his arms throughout the upbeat and fast paced dance.

Too soon the song was over and those around them were partnering up into new couples for the next dance. Henry still had his hands on Elizabeth’s waist and she had not moved to leave him. “One more?” He asked quietly, almost as if he were afraid of breaking some spell.

She averted her eyes from him and nodded, “If you wish.” 

Elizabeth allowed Henry the second dance before she returned to the high table for a last cup of Christmas ale and some people watching. Lord Stanley had managed to lead a slightly tipsy Lady Margaret out onto the dance floor, where she worked through the steps with some difficulty and much laughter. Henry had ferreted out his uncle Jasper and the two were talking over some ale together. There was a knot of ladies sitting at one of the tables gambling with drunken giggles, as well as a contingent of men standing by one of the great oversized fireplaces talking and watching the women. 

The holiday season always reminded Elizabeth of her childhood at court, of her mother and father holding lavish parties, of her siblings indulging in more ale than they were normally allowed, of dancing with handsome young princes and wearing fine gowns. Everything had changed, and nothing had changed. 

“Are you for your chambers soon?” Henry asked, approaching the high table from below.

“Yes.”

“Shall I escort you?”

“If you please.” She stood as he came around the table to lend her his arm. Together they exited the hall through the door behind the high table, through which Henry had entered hours ago. “It was a splendid evening, your grace.” She said.

“A pity you hardly enjoyed it.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I know you are cross with me, Lady Elizabeth, though I do not know why.” He looked down at her with eyes not unkind, “Though I shall endeavor to enter your good graces once again.”

“Henry…” She did not know what to say, not really. How could she ever begin to explain how she felt? If she told him she felt like a pawn he would of course protest it, all the while both of them knew deep down that it was true. Besides, she had been raised to anticipate this and accept it. She had been told that she may never know love like the love her parents bore for one another. She had been told that she was a princess, and that her duty and the kingdom were more important than her personal desires or pleasure.

“But I am content to have stolen two dances with you this evening, and to have seen you smile.” He continued when he realized she was not going to finish. “Believe me when I say I do not mean to upset you, but I must leave again very soon, there is another uprising that I must see to.”

Elizabeth turned her face from him and looked down the corridor they were treading.

“I have my duties… this is something I must do.”

“I am not upset. You are a king, and you must tend to your kingdom.”

Henry saw Elizabeth to the door of her apartments where he kissed her hand and then the top of her head before she slipped away for the night.

The next morning Elizabeth saw off Henry and his men in the yard, returning to the quiet of the palace once they had left. She stayed holed up in her apartments for the most part, staying close to the fire to ward off the cold drafts that haunted the palace. The snow melted away, but the cold never subsided. Before she knew it she received information that there had been a skirmish, that King Henry had prevailed, and that he was en route back to London. He arrived back soon enough, with Cecily on his heels.

Her sister had arrived as promised and was installed in apartments not far from her own. Newly single Cecily had much to talk about. She praised Elizabeth’s fine gowns and marveled at the richness of her apartments. The younger sister discussed her brief marriage and talked at length about her new prospects, this handsome lord and that rich earl. Cecily had always been a simple and affable girl. She never took part in court intrigues, but always thirsted for gossip. She was the most like Elizabeth of their siblings, though less cautious and freer with her friendship.  
“And what of King Henry?” She asked as they lounged in Elizabeth’s bed one frosty morning, under the blankets. 

Elizabeth feigned disaffection. “What of him?”

“Well, is he good to you Lizzie?”

“Yes.” She had barely seen the King since he had returned, except for chance encounters in the corridors and informal family meals together with Lady Margaret and Lord Stanley. She regretted allowing him to leave believing she was cross with him. She was not, she was frustrated with the consequences that attended her station in life. Now, she feared, she had turned his affections against her after all.

“Tell me about him.” Cecily demanded, fluffing a pillow.

Elizabeth shook her head, “I barely know the man.”

“Nonsense. But I can see there is some mystery there you would rather keep to yourself. Do not do this to me, Lizzie.”

She hesitated. “He is a fine man, there is no fault I can see in him. It is only the small matter of… well, I do not think we shall ever love one another.”

“Lizzie?” Cecily sat up a little, touching her hand to her sister’s shoulder in a gesture equal parts confusion and comfort.

“Oh, I do not know!” Elizabeth rubbed her eyes, “He is ever closed off to me. I could talk to him for hours and days and weeks and feel I never comprehended him. He does not mean for us to ever know each other as… well… I do not think he means to love.”

“He may not mean to, but how could he not? You are so beautiful and agreeable, Lizzie, what man could help but grow to love you. Besides, you are not married yet, he may yet open up to you once you are joined together.”

Elizabeth’s lip trembled a little before she bit it. “Do you really think so?”

“There is no sense in worrying about things that have not come to pass yet, sister, you should enjoy things for what they are and not give in to useless speculation.”

Elizabeth pressed Cecily’s hand with her own, “I am so glad you have come, Cecily, I have missed your companionship. There is truly no substitute for a sister.”

“I only wish I could have come sooner.” Her younger sister said pulling Elizabeth into a hug.

Maude entered quietly, “A note from His Grace, King Henry.” She said passing a small folded bit of parchment to Elizabeth.

Elizabeth looked to Cecily who raised her eyebrows and grinned. She took the note and unfolded it to reveal Henry’s cramped and precise handwriting, a testament to his own manner. Meet me in the garden, please. – H.R. 

“Which garden?” Elizabeth puzzled over the scrap of paper.

“Ah, ma’am.” Maude said softly, and Elizabeth looked up. “The boy who brought the note, he says that his grace means to shoot with you. He has had a tent and some archery butts set up in the upper garden along with a tent.”

“Thank you Maude.” Elizabeth stood as the girl began lifting some of Elizabeth’s warmer clothes out of her trunk. Cecily and the maid dressed Elizabeth in a light blue dress and fur lined lapis lazuli cape. Cecily lent her a pair of sturdy sheepskin gloves and warm riding boots. Maude was careful to pin down Elizabeth’s hood, so as to keep her head warm.

Once outside, attended by her sister, Elizabeth had no trouble finding the archery butts. Indeed, a beautiful crimson tent had been set up on the lawn and braziers had been brought out to keep the archers warm. She found Henry within sipping on a cup of mulled wine, his back to her, as he lent an ear to Jasper Tudor. The party already in the tent was a small one, only the most trusted of Henry’s advisors and herself and her sister.

She watched as Jasper Tudor raised his eyebrows and looked over Henry’s shoulder at her. “Ah, Lady Elizabeth.”

Henry turned as Elizabeth dipped a shallow curtsey. The King had his mossy green cloak tossed over one shoulder to reveal a simple whiskey colored leather jerkin beneath, a green felt cap covered his head, a long brindle quail feather the only adornment of his simple shooting costume. “Lady Elizabeth.” He bowed to her, much to everyone’s’ collective surprise. A king bowed to no one, except, perhaps, another king. “Thank you for joining me, despite the cold.”

“Of course, your grace.” 

He stepped forward to take her gloved hand in his and led her to a rack of bows within the tent, and the others returned to their own conversations, leaving Henry and Elizabeth to one another’s company. “I have it on good information that you are an avid shooter.”

“I do enjoy archery, though I make no representations about my abilities.”

“I thought, perhaps, you would enjoy some diversion, especially when the winter has kept you fairly cooped up.”

Elizabeth selected a handsome bow and gave it a stretch to test the draw weight. “Certainly you have not arranged this outing for my sole pleasure…” She mused replacing the bow on the rack.

He could not help the smile that tugged at his thin lips, much less the mercurial shine that came to his eyes. “I certainly have.”

“Then I am doubly thankful.” She said somewhat abashed at thinking back on the doubts she had expressed to Cecily only a short while ago that morning.

“I think you will find this bow agreeable.” He selected one from a higher rack, small white roses had been painted on the wood frame where it joined with the bow string. She could read the pleasure on his face at handing it to her. It was no bow selected at random, he’d had it made just for her.

She draw the string and found the draw weight was comfortable. Together they collected quivers of arrows and went to stand between two blazing braziers that had been set up outside the tent, facing the butts. Elizabeth loosed an arrow first, sinking it deep into the ring just outside of the center target. “I am afraid I have lost some of my touch, not having shot in so long.”

“On the contrary, it was a fine shot.” Henry said encouragingly as he loosed an arrow of his own. He was a fair shot himself.

Elizabeth fired a few more, her technique steadily improving with each arrow until she felt just as comfortable and skilled as she always had. Her arrows flew true and sunk into the heart of the target consistently.

The morning was bitter cold, the heat from the braziers just made it bearable. The grass at her feet was still beaded with droplets from morning’s kiss of dew. The whole of the garden was steeped in a thick, haunting fog, the palace was barely even visible from the gardens, which seemed to transport Elizabeth in her mind to a place far from court. 

“For someone who makes no representations as to their skill, Lady Elizabeth, you seem to have much to boast of.” Henry said when his quiver was spent, his own target in a state not much different to Elizabeth’s.

“Ah, but is not boasting a sin?” Elizabeth asked.

“Only when it is unjustified.”

“Oh, then I am content to boast in this small matter.”

They returned to the relative warmth of the tent where they returned their bows to the rack and set down their quivers. Henry fetched Elizabeth some mulled wine as some others left the tent to try their own hands at the archery butts outside. The warmth of the wine filled Elizabeth as she drank it, seeming to render her warmer from the inside out.

The small band spent their morning there in the garden, alternating turns and at the butts with time in the tent eating, drinking, and talking. 

“I regret that I must excuse myself.” Henry said after a time, “Though I would that I could spend the day here, there are matters with in that I must see to.” He stood, before offering his hand to Elizabeth, “May I have the pleasure of escorting you back to the Palace, Lady Elizabeth.

She took his hand gingerly. “You may.”

Henry led her from the tent. “I feel I have not had the chance to enjoy your company in weeks, Lady Elizabeth.” He said as she took his arm.

“I apologize if it is in any way due to some default of mine own.” Elizabeth looked out over the gardens laced in fog set out before her.

“It is I who should apologize.” Henry said quickly. “There were so many affairs of state to tend to, I am afraid I quite neglected you. And for that I am most sorry.”

“There is no need for an apology, I know better than most the duties of a King.”

“What of the duties of a husband?” He asked, the words tumbling out so unexpectedly his own eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Elizabeth was rather shocked herself. “I am afraid I know nothing of those at present.”

Henry attempted to regain his composure, but appeared to have difficulty doing so. He ran a gloved hand over his leather jerkin before flicking his cape over his shoulder. Then he was removing his cap, replacing it immediately at a reproachful glance from Elizabeth. He moved his hand to cover hers on his arm, no sooner had he done so than he lifted it to brush some hair from his face.

“Henry.” Elizabeth said. “What is it?”

“What is what?” He asked, stopping abruptly before a fountain made defunct by the cold winter. Veined ice covered the basin of the fountain, while stone cherubs stood poised on the plinth above to tip the water that would not come from their vessels. 

Elizabeth merely raised her eyebrows into a question, looking up at him. He stepped toward her and slipped his hands under her azure fur lined cloak to grasp her arms just above the elbow. “Just yesterday I received something I have long awaited.” Elizabeth moved to place her hands on his forearms.

“The pope has issued us a dispensation. We are free to marry,” He was powerless to hide the smile that came. 

Elizabeth hesitated, not entirely sure of what reaction he expected from her. At last she settled on, “When shall we marry?”

“Just as soon as we can. I would that you were my wife this very evening.” There was a fresh earnestness in his eyes, such as she had never seen before. Henry was a man of action, she knew, it was said he was a force to reckon with when he was keen to have something done.

“This evening. But, Henry…”

“Why not.”

“We must give the people a wedding. The people love nothing more than a grand wedding.” She had grown up hearing as much at court, especially when people spoke of her mother and father’s secret wedding. Apparently the people had felt robbed of a glorious occasion. 

“Must we? Than tomorrow.” His hands moved to her waist. “There are already tentative plans in place, it would be nothing at all to have the arrangements made tomorrow.”

“My dress can hardly be finished by tomorrow.”

Henry looked almost childlike when he pleaded with her, “Then the next day, but please, do not make me wait any longer than that.”

Elizabeth was surprised that she had been so completely unaware that he felt so strongly about their being wed. “The day after tomorrow, then.” She agreed.

Henry closed the gap between them, sliding his hands from her waist and up her back to press her to him in a kiss, their cold noses brushing. Elizabeth was surprised to find herself relaxed in his arms, as if there was no one in the world who could see them out there, kissing in the openness of the garden. Her fingers curled around the nape of his neck as he pulled back from her a fraction of an inch. “Hmmm, and what should I call you now that you will no longer be Lady Elizabeth?” He mused in hushed tones meant only for them.

“My Queen.” She said twining one of his ringlets about her finger, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“Oh but everyone shall call you My Queen.”

“What, then, would you call me?”

He thought on it for a moment, running his hands down her sides to rest on her waist. “Lizzie?”

“Hm, that is what my family calls me.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” He chided. “Bess?”

“That will work.” She leaned in to him ever so slightly, lifting her face to his. “But only you may call me that.”


	7. The Dragon and The White Rose

It wasn’t every day that Elizabeth was waited on by five women. But today wasn’t just any other day.

Women bustled about her room fetching this, putting away that. Elizabeth had only been able to snatch scraps of her breakfast from the tray on the hutch every now and again, when she had a free moment and was not being pinched or prodded.

It was a cold morning. Freezing, in fact. The fire which had been set in the hearth had done little to dispel the lingering chill. Soon enough Elizabeth could no longer feel the cold, though, due to the onset of nerves. No longer did she feel underdressed in her simple linen night dress. The cold no longer nipped at her exposed arms or cheeks. The gravity of what was to transpire today was just beginning to dawn on her. Today was sure to be one of the most important of her life. 

“Lady Cecily, the gown.” Lady Margaret ordered in a clipped voice. The Lady had entered Elizabeth’s apartment that morning before Maude even had a chance to wake Elizabeth, it was then that the ordering about had begun. The woman had apparently appointed herself Elizabeth’s guardian for the day. Far from begrudging Lady Margaret the role, Elizabeth was grateful. The less she herself had to worry about, the better. Besides, Lady Margaret so liked being in charge of things, she could never think to take this small joy from the woman.

Cecily laid out Elizabeth’s wedding gown on the bed, careful to arrange the long train so that it did not crease. The dress had been made in cloth of silver with rich blue detailing and edged with pearls of all sizes and gold ribbon. The hood, which had been made to match, was magnificent cloth of gold with even more pearls. The seamstresses had been told to make the most beautiful gown they could, and their efforts did not fail to appease not only Elizabeth but also the often implacable Lady Margaret herself.

Her younger sister was dressed in a less rich version of the gown. Though in the same cloth of silver, Cecily’s gown had far fewer pearls, a shorter train, reduced detailing, and a less sumptuous cut. Her hood had been designed in the same fabric as her gown and lacked any adornment. It was important that Cecily was well dressed, though less well dressed than her sister. Especially given the unspoken consensus that Lady Cecily was generally fairer than her older sister.

It took three women to fit Elizabeth into the dress, which she found quite heavy. While the maid’s brushed out her strawberry blonde ringlets, Cecily fetched from the dressing table Elizabeth’s necklace with the cross medallion Henry had given her. She fastened it round her sister’s neck then stepped back to admire the overall look. “Elizabeth you look…” She trailed off, mouth agape.

“Like a queen.” Lady Margaret supplied, crossing her arms under her breasts and grinning with pleasure. Elizabeth could sense that Lady Margaret took some credit for not only the sight before her, but also for the situation Elizabeth found herself in. And rightfully so. The match was Lady Margaret’s idea, and she had moved heaven and hell for it, as was per usual for her when it came to affairs concerning her son.

The maids finished brushing out Elizabeth’s hair and looked to Lady Margaret for instruction. The duchess rubbed her sharp chin with her thumb and forefinger, studying Elizabeth keenly. “Just, ah… yes… just leave it.”

“My Lady?” Maude asked.

“Leave it just like that, loose.”

Elizabeth nearly blushed, remembering how Henry had let down her hair one time at Collyweston. How he had been almost fascinated by her hair, combing through it with his fingers. How he had turned her about and looked at her with something akin to reverence in his eyes. 

Cecily busied herself, arranging Elizabeth’s hair about her shoulders, almost as if she was looking for some way to dress it out of habit. But Lady Margaret swatted Cecily away, “Come, we must leave now.” She took Elizabeth’s arm, “Lady Cecily, be a dear and carry Lady Elizabeth’s train.” 

Cecily caught Elizabeth’s glance and rolled her eyes discreetly as she moved about her older sister to take up the train. Elizabeth had known for some time that, while Cecily liked Lady Margaret well enough, she tired of the woman’s sometimes dramatic antics.

The women were escorted by guards from Westminster Palace to nearby Westminster Abby. With every passing moment Elizabeth felt her life had become surreal. Was it really only months ago that she had been locked away at Sherrifhutton? Was it really only last year that she had watched her dear Aunt Anne die? Was it all that long ago that herself, her mother, and her siblings had lived in sanctuary? People told her that she was finally getting what she deserved after all she had endured, but Elizabeth did not feel deserving.

“Are you alright?” Cecily asked in hushed tone, pressing Elizabeth’s gloved hand with her own, the two walking close together for warmth from the biting wind that swept between the two grand buildings. Her younger sister still had the train of the wedding gown in her arms.

“Yes, quite.” Elizabeth said, using her free hand to secure the hood of her cloak from the gust that sought to blow it back.

Cecily arched an eyebrow. Her sister, she forgot, knew her all too well.

“What do you think? It is my wedding day, of course I’m a little…” She searched for the word.

“Nervous?”

“Maybe.” She conceded looking up at the imposing twin towers of the Abbey before her, the very magnitude of the building almost seemed to want to impress on her the significance of this day. 

“Good.” Cecily grinned, “A little bit of nerves in situations like this are always good.”

The short walk soon saw them approaching the great doors of the Abbey. “Wait here.” Lady Margaret said before striding up to the doors, which a guard opened partway so she could slip inside. Elizabeth was confused that Lady Margaret would abandon her at such a moment. She turned to look at Cecily.

Clearly reading the concern in her older sister’s eyes, Cecily was quick to reassure her, “Lady Margaret is simply joining her husband inside, when the moment is right the doors will open and we will enter. Together.”

Elizabeth nodded and took a deep breath, yes of course. Of course, Lady Margaret needed to find her place.

“Your gloves.” Cecily hissed, as the guards began to open the doors.

Quickly Elizabeth worked the cream leather gloves from her fingers and handed them back to Cecily who bundled the train under one arm while she folded the gloves into a small pouch at her waist. 

They entered the Abbey together, Elizabeth briefly stopping just inside the doors so that Cecily could take their cloaks, handing them off to a convenient guard. The golden haired beauty then managed the small matter of the train; lifting the material high so that it caught the air, and, gripping the hem, she guided the train to the carpeted floor where it lay stretched out behind Elizabeth without a wrinkle. 

Elizabeth steeled herself. The main aisle of the Abbey seemed five miles long, the majority of its length flanked by those who had come to witness the marriage. Noblemen and women, members of the king’s household, the Mayor of London, and many other rather important people were gathered. Everyone was dressed in their absolute finest, men donned their best doublets and women had ornamented themselves with their most precious jewels.

From the choir she could hear the masterful and angelic voices of the choir boys singing in Latin. She began her long and slow pilgrimage down the main aisle. The Archbishop, whom she recognized by his red Cardinal’s robes and hat, stood on the dais at the end of the nave, beside him a figure. She could not quite make out his features yet, but she knew it was Henry.

A part of Elizabeth wanted to run up the aisle, to have the whole spectacle over with, but another part of her found the long, slow minutes and the anticipation rather enjoyable in their unbareability. She wanted to savor this feeling, to delight in each moment of the day no matter what.

As she passed the rows and rows of people standing in the church pews she could hear them murmuring to one another. She caught snatches of what they were saying, “beautiful,” “so like her mother,” “a fine mate,” and so forth. Women eyed her gown with a modicum of thinly veiled jealousy, and men seemed to take her in with a small measure on envy on their part as well.

She tried to block them all out, she did not want to look at them or listen to them. They did not matter, not today anyhow.

Now much closer to the raised platform under the cloth of gold canopy of state Elizabeth could see Henry in all his regal splendor, a gold crown set amongst his tawny brown curls. He was dressed in an ermine lined cloth of gold robe over a green and white doublet, a heavy gold chain was draped over his shoulders and chest. He smiled in that small, secret way he had, the way in which one could only find the smile if they knew to look for it; a small twist of his closed, thin lips.

Elizabeth tried her hardest not to hurry her steps the nearer the dais she came. She lowered her eyes as she approached the platform, lifting her bulky skirts to negotiate the steps with an attempted grace. She could see Henry’s form twitching out of the corner of her eye, she sensed almost instinctively that he would like nothing better than to give her his hand. But she managed the steps on her own, glad to drop her skirts the moment she was on the dais. Now it was appropriate for him to take her hand, and lead her to kneel before the Cardinal. 

The Latin ceremony seemed to go on for an eternity. Elizabeth found herself shifting her weight from knee to knee to keep her legs from getting too sore. The Cardinal had been droning on for so long, Elizabeth was shocked when quite suddenly the whole of the Abbey was silent. She looked up to find the Cardinal standing above them, it was clearly time to begin the vows and they rose.

“Do you King Henry VII take Lady Elizabeth of York to be your lawfully wedded wife? Will you remain with her through sickness and through health, through riches and through poverty, through the good and the bad?” 

Henry looked to the Cardinal, then to Elizabeth, “I do.” His voice was strong, sure. A King’s voice.

“And do you Lady Elizabeth of York take King Henry VII to be your lawfully wedded husband? Will you love and obey him? Will you remain with him through sickness and through health, through riches and through poverty, through the good and the bad?”

“I do.” Elizabeth replied, high and clear, though her palms were slick with sweat and she was discreetly attempting to wipe them on her skirt.

The Cardinal returned his attention to Henry, “The ring?”

Henry held out his hand palm up so the Cardinal could see, a square cut sapphire surrounded by a halo of pave diamonds set on a gold band crusted with additional pave diamonds. It was extravagant by any standard, even that of a king. Surely, Elizabeth thought, she had never seen anything remotely like it. 

The Cardinal nodded and Henry took Elizabeth’s hand. Elizabeth looked down as Henry easily slipped the ring on her fourth finger, in her peripheral view the Cardinal made the sign of the cross. She looked up at Henry through her lashes, but it was not her hand or the ring he was looking at, rather he was watching her. 

The Cardinal lowered the Bible in his hand so the great tomb was between Henry and Elizabeth, who placed their hands together on the pages of the book. “By the power vested in me by the Catholic Church and His Holiness the Pope in Rome, I declare King Henry VII and Queen Elizabeth, husband and wife.” He withdrew the Bible and smiled at them both almost paternally, “You may now kiss your bride.”

Henry stepped toward Elizabeth and placed an almost chaste kiss on her lips; though, his hand found hers in the folds of her voluminous skirts and away from the eyes of the onlookers, to entwine his fingers with hers and give her hand a squeeze.

The two turned to face their subjects, who cheered their union. Some clapped politely, while others, such as Jasper Tudor, did so with more gusto. The guests continued to applaud them as Henry led her back down the aisle and out the Abbey.

“My Queen.” He teased once they were outside, bending down to peck her on the cheek as the guests began to crowd their way out of the church behind them. Everyone made their way back to the Palace across from the Abbey in the Westminster complex. Elizabeth was soon led away by the ladies of her new household, while Henry was led away by his own men. 

Back in her apartments, Elizabeth’s maids busied themselves bustling her impressive train while Cecily had the good sense to pour Elizabeth a tipple. The women quickly refreshed themselves, knowing there was scant time until they were expected in the Westminster Hall for a day and night of celebration.

“Oh Lizzie, you both make such a fine couple.” Cecily said as she dabbed some rose oil on her sister’s neck and chest. “Here, you must let me see your ring.” The girl took Elizabeth’s hand and gasped, “Lizzie! This is better than all of mama’s jewels together. See how he spoils you already.” 

“It is a very fine ring, but I am not spoiled, Cecily.”

“Perhaps.” Her younger sister smiled, “But there is no denying his admiration of you. I saw how he looked at you today. He is quite taken with you.”

“Cecily!” She giggled with reproach. 

“Deny it all you want, Lizzie. I know what I saw. You may have to become resigned to the fact that your husband does, in fact, fancy you,” She took the small silver cup from Elizabeth and placed it on the sideboard, “and now we must go join the festivities.”

Henry and Elizabeth met outside the doors to Westminster Hall, their respective retinues joining together before the doors were flung open. “His Grace King Henry VII and his wife, Queen Elizabeth.” The herald announced. Elizabeth took Henry’s hand in a formal fashion and the stepped through into the hall, where their guests were bowing and curtsying. Henry escorted Elizabeth to the high table and they took their seats. 

Soon enough music was struck up and the feast was being served. It was much like the Christmas festivities had been weeks prior, but on a grander scale. There were more guests, more food, more plays, more music, and just generally more of everything.

Lord Stanley came up to the high table long after they had ate their fill, though there were still many courses to be served, and presented them with a fine wedding chalice. Making a spectacular show of it, the Duke kneeled before them and offered up the chalice before standing and filling it with spiced wine. He passed the chalice to Henry, who held it for a long moment, studying the fine metal work.

Elizabeth, suspecting he was not familiar with the custom, whispered to him, “We are both to drink from it. It is tradition.”

He nodded his chin ever so slightly in thanks, before taking a sip then passing it to Elizabeth who also drank from it. This aroused the delight of the wedding guests who cheered and clapped, some even whistled. 

Soon enough it was time to enjoy yet another play. This one depicted King Henry “wooing” Elizabeth. A comedy, the play had no basis in fact and was rather a series of amusing scenes in which “Henry” and “Elizabeth” misunderstand each other, until finally “Henry” rather forwardly asked her to marry him. The play won the laughter of many, and King Henry handsomely tipped the players, “You’ve quite figured me out, I see.” He jested.

The musicians struck up a merry tune and men and women crowded into the clearing in the midst of the tables to dance.

“Bess.” Henry said, covertly taking her hand under the table. “You look so beautiful today.”

“Thank you.” She entwined her fingers with his, “you look quite dashing yourself.” He really did. Not handsome, he was not conventionally handsome, he was not like the princes in the stories. But he did have a type of good looks that she found agreeable. His eyes especially, she found them to be his best feature. She liked nothing better than to say something witty or perhaps catch his glance, just so she could see his blue eyes dance.

“Are you enjoying the wedding?” His tone suggested it was an off handed question, but Elizabeth knew that he dearly wanted her approval of the festivities he had planned.

“Yes, of course.” She watched as the couples joined in a spirited reel, the music pitched and energetic. “I think our guests are enjoying it very much as well.”

“I’m glad.”

“Henry.” He turned to face her when she said his name, “Thank you.”

His brows furrowed above a confused gaze. “Whatever for, dearest.”

She grinned at the way he called her dearest, he’d never called her anything other than Lady Elizabeth and, only recently, Bess. “For… everything. For the wedding, for your kindness to me, for… keeping your pledge to me.”

“You do not need to thank me, Bess.” He squeezed her hand tight, “I do these things because I want to, not out of some feeling of compulsion or duty. Though I do mean to show you that you have my loyalty from this day forward”

Elizabeth had rather suspected she’d had his loyalty for some weeks now.

They were interrupted by some new spectacle, the doors at the far end of the hall had burst open and drummers marched in, fiercely drumming as they moved to line the walls of the Hall. On their heels came a large green dragon, made of paper maché and cloth and buttressed on the inside by men. The dragon roamed the hall, people cheering above the booming of the drums as the dragon breathed real fire. Henry clapped and roared his own approval. Elizabeth had never seen anything so extravagant at any court banquet. 

Then from a side door came a flock of women dressed in filmy white shifts, their head and feet bare, and bearing in their arms small lyres. The drumming gave way to the mellifluous sounds of the harp. Further women entered the hall bearing a beautiful and gigantic white rose, made from wire and silk and muslin. The dragon stopped breathing fire as the rose was bore across the hall to it by the women. Then the dragon took the white rose in its teeth, much to the delight of all gathered, and emitted a loud roar before curling up to lay contentedly on the floor of the Hall.

All present praised the display heartily, the meaning of the scene not lost on any there. The Welsh dragon lay with the York rose, united. Henry himself looked pleased, and Elizabeth knew in an instant he had orchestrated the show himself. It was just the sort of thing to inspire the increased fealty of all the gathered peers and nobles.

After more drinking, dancing, music, and general merry-making, it was announced that the King and Queen were retiring for the evening. This earned further cheers and applause from the guests, the more inebriated of whom even bellowed double entendres which caused Elizabeth to blush and Henry to laugh.

Elizabeth’s ladies were already out in the corridor when she left the hall, ready to escort her back to her apartments and help her make herself ready for bed. But Henry waived the women away, assuring them he and Elizabeth could find her apartments well enough.

The ladies giggled, curtsied, and flocked back into the Hall.

“Why did you do that?” Elizabeth asked.

“I do not like being attended to so much, and I would hazard you do not either.” He took her hand and together they walked through the vacant Palace unescorted. In that moment they were not King and Queen, but simply a husband and wife the same as any other couple. 

Upon reaching her apartments she let Henry in, closing the door and locking it behind them. “Ah, some wine?” She asked uncertainly, suddenly all nerves. It was their wedding night, and while she knew what that meant, she also did not have the faintest idea of how it was all supposed to proceed.

“That would be good.” Henry sat on the mattress at the foot of her bed. She poured them each a glass of wine. More generous than usual, she filled them near to the brim and cautiously joined Henry at the foot of the bed.

She took a deep drink of her wine and forced herself to relax as much as she could. It was not like the man was going to attack her, that much she knew. 

Henry took her hand gingerly, and studied the ring he had placed there only that morning. “How do you like it?”

“The ring?”

“Mmm.” 

She tilted her hand this way and that in his so that the gems caught the candle light, “It’s exquisite.” She admired the way it looked on her hand, like it belonged there. She knew Henry had had it made for her, jewelers certainly did not keep such costly rings ready at hand.

“Nothing but the best for my wife.” He said softly, kissing her hand.

Hearing him call her his wife made Elizabeth’s heart swell. Not just the affectionate way he said it either, but the connotation that she now had a man who would provide for and protect her. Never again would she face the hardships of hiding in sanctuary or the social ostracism of being named a bastard. She was now a Queen, and no man would dare to harm the wife of the King.

Henry stood suddenly, placing his cup on the table. He removed his golden crown and placed it on the beside the cup, then shrugged out of his robe, which he tossed over the back of a chair. Next his hand went to the laces of his doublet. 

_**Oh Lord**_ , Elizabeth thought, taking a large swig of wine to prepare herself, _**Is this how these things start? No preamble? No easing in to being comfortable with one another**_.

She was immediately embarrassed with herself when she realized he was simply loosening the tight laces to make himself more relaxed. Henry drained the last of his cup, “More wine?” He asked, approaching to collect her cup from her.

“Or…” she stood, and instead took his cup from him and hurried to the sideboard.

“Or what?” Henry asked, watching as Elizabeth opened a cupboard in the furniture. She lifted out a glass jug of amber liquid. “What have you got there, Bess?” He teased coming up behind her, “Is that… whiskey? Where did you get that, you naughty girl?”

Elizabeth laughed openly, “I’m hardly naughty. But, I do happen to know some who are and who bring me things such as this.”

He took the bottle from her and poured himself a little. Elizabeth nodded to her cup expectantly when he moved to cork the jug. “Have you had this before?” He asked incredulously.

“No.” She nodded to the cup again.

He obligingly poured her a sip’s worth, while muttering, “Fine, but you won’t like it.”

“Oh, and you know what I like and do not like.” She brazenly retorted taking her cup.

“I would not profess to know all your inner desires, but I do know this you shall not like.”

Defiantly she tipped back the cup. The strong drink burned the back of her throat immediately, and her body instinctively wanted to cough back up the vile liquid. Elizabeth fought the impulse to spit it out, but could not keep the sour look from her face.

Henry sipped his whiskey in amusement, “And did you like it, dearest?”

“Yes.” She lied miserably.

“Stubborn women.” He mumbled, bending down to kiss her sweetly.

She broke away, “Mmm, no… you taste like it too.”

Henry laughed, “I’m sorry.” He sipped the last of the drink in his glass then selected some grapes from a tray on the sideboard, eating them as he found a new cup and poured some of wine for Elizabeth.

She took the cup to her dressing table where she sat and removed her necklace and other small embellishments to her garb. Henry himself took the time to remove his doublet, as though there were some unspoken arrangement that they would now make themselves more comfortable. When Elizabeth stood to kick off her slippers, Henry was behind her, a hand on her shoulder, “May I?”

Her breath caught and she nodded as his hand went to the stays of her gown. Slowly he loosened the ribbon, planting tender kisses on her neck and shoulders all the while. Elizabeth could scarce breath for anxious anticipation of the unknown. “I loved this gown on you today, Bess.” He murmured against the sensitive skin at the base of her neck. “But, I think it must go.”

She licked her lips, “Do you?” She whispered, even though they were quite alone. His hands moved to push the dress from her shoulders and down her arms, then to her waist where he moved the gown over her hips to fall to the floor in a pool of cloth of silver. Gingerly, Elizabeth turned to face him in her shift and step out of the gown at her feet. He took her in his arms and kissed first her forehead, then her cheeks, covering her face in soft kisses until she tangled her fingers in hair and pulled her to him to kiss her on the mouth.

She felt secure in his arms. Safe, if a little nervous, as all maids should be.

“You once said ‘as good as married is not married’.” Henry whispered to her, as Elizabeth placed her hands on his chest. “Well, Bess, we are wed now.” He nodded toward the bed as if asking if she were ready.

“Yes, we are, aren’t we... husband?” She replied, pulling him in for another impassioned kiss.


	8. Unexpected

There were soft footsteps beyond the opulent and thick hangings that enclosed the bed on all four sides. Then the sound of logs being quietly arranged in the hearth, the gentle knocking together of wood. Moments later Elizabeth could hear the cracking and popping of a fire. The footsteps retreated across the wood plank floor, growing fainter, and a door creaked shut. 

A haze clouded Elizabeth’s mind, she was somewhere between waking and sleeping; almost powerless to resist the beckoning of deep, dark slumber that willed her to return to its fold. Her eyelids were heavy, almost too heavy to lift. Her shoulder was cold and she tried moving her arm to pull up the neck of her nightgown, which she suspected had slipped off her shoulder. She was shocked when she found no collar to grasp, and forced herself to open her eyes. She was laying on her stomach, her head nestled in the crook of Henry’s shoulder, one arm pinned under her breast and the other resting on the smooth plain of his chest.

Elizabeth moved carefully against him in the smallest way possible. She was absolutely positive she was not wearing her nightgown. His skin was pressed against hers everywhere their bodies met. Relatively scandalized, Elizabeth began forming ideas of ways to remove herself from her current situation of being blatantly draped over him. But Henry’s arm wrapped around her made it impossible for her to roll away from him without waking him. His arm, the shoulder of which her head presently rested on, crossed her back for his hand to rest upon her hip, holding her to him in an embrace she could not wrest herself from. 

Resigned to this rather indecent embrace, Elizabeth reflected on the previous evening. While Henry had treated her gently, and taken his time to be sure she was comfortable and willing, she had found it all, well… a little unpleasant. Cecily had warned her before the wedding it would be so, but had been quick to encourage that things would be rather a good deal better, and quickly. Elizabeth did not see how that could be the case.

Henry had really tried his best, she knew, to make sure she was alright. In truth, it was all over quite quickly. After, Henry had showered her in kisses and tender caresses. And apparently, at some point, they had fallen asleep.

Tucking his tawny curls behind his ear, Elizabeth let her fingers flutter over the stubble of his jawline. He was hers now. Her husband as well as her king. She traced her thumb over the curve of his lip, and was surprised when he bit down on the finger lightly.

“Good morning, Bess.” He said, his eyes still closed, she could feel his hand at her hip slip up her bare form to her ribs.

“How long have you been awake?” She let her hand fall back onto his chest.

His eyelashes fluttered and he peered out at her under a sleepy gaze, “Not long.”

She was having trouble meeting his eyes. Henry seemed so at ease. How could he be so relaxed, so unfazed waking up in bed together like this? For her it felt the most alien thing in the world. Sure, she had slept in a bed with her sisters before, but that was entirely different. 

“Maybe we should… get dressed.” Elizabeth set up against the pillows, careful to manipulate the blankets to preserve her modesty.

“What for?” 

She looked down at Henry where he lay beside her, “For… the day, of course?” It was meant to be a statement, but came out more like a question.

“Must we?” He placed a kiss on her shoulder.

“Henry,” She tilted her head away from him as he forged a trail of kisses from her shoulder and up her neck, exposing the tender flesh there to his lips. She was almost embarrassed how much she liked the way his lips felt on her skin. “You have a kingdom to run.” 

“It can do without me for a day.” He murmured, tracing his fingers over her collar. “Nothing short of war could take me from you today.” 

“Henry.” She warned, and he froze for a moment his breath still warm on her skin, before moving toward the edge of the bed.

“Yes, of course, you are right.” Henry pushed apart the bed hangings and stood.

Elizabeth willed herself not to look, but could not help covertly peeking at Henry’s backside. She busied herself twirling a bit of her hair in her fingers, to keep from watching Henry dress.

“Bess?” He asked.

Turning to look at him she found Henry clad only in his breeches, her shift in his hands. She reached out to take the proffered garment, when he pulled his hand back and studied her.

“What?” She asked, his gaze making her more self-conscious than ever. He was not merely looking at her. No, it was something more. Something deeper. 

He knelt on the bed, stroking her hair before taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “Nothing.” He handed Elizabeth her shift, which she pulled on as he continued dressing. “Come to my rooms for supper tonight, Bess.” Henry said as he laced his doublet before the fire.

“As you wish.” Elizabeth took the invitation as a symbol that she had not displeased him in her wifely duties. At least not yet, not in the few short hours they had been wed.

After Henry left her apartments, Elizabeth’s maids and ladies crept into her rooms. Her bed was stripped of its linens by the maids, who retreated from the bedchamber with the night’s sheets. Her ladies drew her a bath before leaving just her and Cecily in the room.

Steam rose is wisps and clouds from the hot tub. Elizabeth inhaled sharply as she dipped a foot into the hot water. Gingerly she worked her way into the tub until her whole figure was submerged. “So.” Cecily said as she dipped a wash cloth in the water.

“Hmm?” Elizabeth looked up to find her sister wiggling her eyebrows at her. “No, Cecily, absolutely not.” It was obvious what Cecily wanted to talk about.

Cecily laughed lightly, “You’ve always been far too modest, Lizzy. I hope you aren’t the same way with your new husband.”

“Cecily!” She reproached her sister, “Such things are none of your concern, I can assure you!”

The sharpness of Elizabeth’s tone had little effect on Cecily, who merely raised her brow as the corner of her lip twisted up in a lopsided grin. “Of course.”

Elizabeth stared out the window before her, the yard outside was bathed in dim morning light with nerry a person stirring. It was far too early for anyone to be out in the yard, though if it had been hunting season or if the court were going on progress the yard would have been a hub of activity. 

Her mind kept retreating back to the events of the night before, and their intimate morning together. A part of her wished that Henry could have stayed in bed with her longer that morning, if for no other reason than that she enjoyed being around him. But she would not have him think that she believed herself more important than his royal duties. And, if she was perfectly honest, she hadn’t expected to wake up with Henry there. She had thought that men did their marital duties and then simply left to sleep in their own rooms after. Never had she expected him to spend the night in her bed. She was not sorry that he had, she had even liked that he had stayed with her, only she did not know what the protocol was for what they were supposed to do in the morning. And in her uncertainty, she realized, she had practically shooed him from her apartments.

“Henry – The King has invited me to sup with him tonight in his chambers.” Elizabeth said.

This seemed to satisfy some of Cecily’s curiosity. “Well, then you have certainly not displeased his grace.” She washed Elizabeth’s shoulders and arms. After a while she broke the silence, “I know you are a private person by nature, dear Lizzy, but your marriage will be happier if you open yourself up to you husband. Trusting people is not in your nature, but lasting relationships are built on trust. You need to let him know you as your truest self.” She hesitated, “I apologize if I speak out of turn, but it comes from not only my concern for you, but also my concern for the Kingdom. The Kingdom will be peaceful and strong, if the King and Queen’s relationship is as well.”

Elizabeth sighed. Cecily was, of course, right. But that didn’t mean that Elizabeth enjoyed hearing another critiquing her and Henry’s relationship already. She barely even knew the man. “I’m done bathing now.” She said and stood.

Cecily helped dress her sister speedily before Elizabeth was escorted to her mass by her household. Lady Margaret had appointed a handsome gaggle of ladies to attend to the new queen. All of them well-bred and of noble birth, with names she had heard many times before. They were all richly attired, as befitted their birth as gentlewomen and their status as members of the Queen’s household. 

In the confessional after mass Elizabeth stumbled over her own words as she clumsily confessed that during mass she was thinking of being abed with her new husband, rather than faithfully listening to what the bishop was saying. “Forgive me father.” She asked, her cheeks hot.

The man behind the partition coughed and cleared his throat. “Yes, my child. You, ah… you must say five Hail Mary’s for absolution.” 

“Thank you father.” Elizabeth said horridly before excusing herself from the confessional. Her ladies surrounded her as she exited the chapel. Outside Elizabeth was greeted by a throng of people of varying social statuses. Their commonality was that they all had some plight or cause they wanted to present to the Queen. The press of people and the cacophony of voices was a little overwhelming for Elizabeth, who managed to project an outer calm. Handing out alms to some, other causes required Elizabeth to assign a councilor to oversee the sensitive matter. 

Back in her rooms Elizabeth assembled her new household to address them, as she had not had the opportunity to do so that morning. “Thanks are in order to each of you for responding to the summons to join my household.” She began when they had all joined together in the comfort of her private rooms. The women stood before her, meek in her presence. Just behind the women Elizabeth could see Lady Margaret slipping into the room, though no one else noticed her.

“This is a good Christian court, each of you will be expected at mass daily and to spend time daily in devotion to our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Lewd and loose behavior will not be tolerated. A mar upon any one of you is a mar upon my household, my Queenship, and your King.” Her tone was gentle but firm, imparting a sense of kindness with little in the way of flexibility. “Please remember, your actions from here on out are tied to this monarchy, everything you do reflects upon the royal family.”

“Some of you are maidens. Marriages will be arranged for you at his grace’s pleasure.” Though Elizabeth did not promise that she would not have some hand in the arrangements. She understood the families and allegiances that needed to be forged, she did not expect her husband to have such a nuanced knowledge of the minutiae of the English Court.

She moved on, “You will be expected to wait on me daily. You are to attire my person upon waking and make me ready for bed at night. You will attend me during the day wherever I go and whatever I do. When the court moves, you move with it. Time will be granted to each of you to spend as you wish, whether a few hours or a few months. If you are needed at home make it known to me and I shall accommodate.” 

The women all looked solemn. Had she said something wrong? Was she too dour? Certainly her Aunt Anne had addressed her women in such a manner when she had become queen. “And now… now I think we should spend some time improving our minds and talents.” Elizabeth moved to the table and took out her writing materials; her quill, ink, sand, paper and so forth. Cecily was the first of the women to move, taking up the lute. The women began to disperse about the room some sewing, or reading, or writing. Elizabeth happened to catch Lady Margaret disappearing from her apartments as easily and as quietly as she had entered. 

It had been some time since Elizabeth had been in the company of so many women. She rather missed now her days alone, when she was not expected to play the dual roles hostess and mistress. The room was buzzing with murmured conversations and softly played music. Each one was there to serve her, at least in theory. She knew many sought favor with the monarchy and marks of such favor to be lavished upon their families in kind for their fealty. The task would be to ferret out those who were true and those who were not. It seemed that being married as well as being queen was attended by a multitude of adjustments. But her mother had been queen and she had been raised to be one too, she knew what to do. The trickiest part would be doing it right and earning respect.

Idly Elizabeth wrote out disjointed verses, her thoughts never remaining long enough for her to write them down in a meaningful way. She struggled to remain focused on any one emotion on which to write. Her life had been in such upheaval lately that she hadn’t written in weeks or even months. She felt out of practice, reigning in her stray thoughts and harnessing one particular sentiment to hone in on was harder now than it used to be. 

Try as she might Elizabeth could not work on any one verse long enough to complete it, and in the end all she was left with were snatches of poetry, some pretty phrases, and discarded scribblings. As she was scratching some writings she was particularly displeased with Cecily approached, “Perhaps we should ready you for supper tonight?” She suggested with a touch more formality than Elizabeth was used to receiving from her closest sister.

“Yes, I believe you are right.” 

Cecily softened her voice to nothing above a whisper, so only Elizabeth could hear, “Is it to be a private supper?”

Elizabeth inclined her chin slightly, a nod. This earned a grin from Cecily. Her sister had always been a little mischievous, but during their time apart the girl had become downright wicked. Elizabeth wished she were as brazen and easy going. But it was not in her nature, she was far too shy and modest.

The women bustled about fetching jewelry for the new queen to wear, while Cecily removed Elizabeth’s hood and brushed out her sister’s hair. It took all her patience to keep from dismissing the women and simply letting Cecily help her get ready. But she knew it would reflect poorly on her as a mistress and would make the ladies fret that they had displeased her. Cecily arranged Elizabeth’s hair into a simple plait which she caught up in a snood, the netting of which was dotted with glistening fresh water pearls. 

Cecily alone saw Elizabeth through the corridors to the tall oak doors that led to the King’s chambers. The guards there tilted the heads of the halberds to the side, allowing her to pass beyond and into the rooms. Cecily stayed behind in the hall and hand only a small wave to offer when Elizabeth looked back over her shoulder at her sister.

Once within, it was immediately apparent Henry was not in his chambers. A few manservants offered to make her comfortable, and vacated when she assured them she wanted for nothing. With the men gone, Elizabeth was able to survey the chambers that had been both her father’s and her uncle’s. Little had changed, but the rooms felt different. There was a different energy in the apartments. The bed was the same, but gone were her father’s red cloth of golf hangings and coverlet, replaced with green cloth of gold. Gone were her uncle’s vast collection of fine books, replaced with maps with wooden markers painted a whole host of colors scattered over top.

Walking between the rooms Elizabeth took note of how well appointed they were, with fine wood furniture and ornate tapestries. Sher also noticed how impersonal the contents were. How chests packed with clothes stood open, as if ready to be shut and carried off at a moment’s notice. How the maps on the tables were not weighted down at the edges. How a pair of riding boors stood at the ready beside the hearth, as if their master would pull them on and march off any minute. There was no indication that the occupant had taken ownership of the rooms, there was no hint that his presence would be permanent. No, the occupant did not truly live there, he was merely staying there.

Elizabeth well acquainted with this way of life, for she had been shuttled up and down the length and breadth of the kingdom for years, always ready to vacate her dwellings should the need to do so present itself.

The reality, Elizabeth reminded herself, was that the kingdom was embroiled in a state of unrest. Henry was expected to keep this unrest at bay each time it reared its head, nipping each instance in the bud. Already the new king had spent more than his fair share of time on the roads, directing his men and overseeing the manner in which each rebellion was quelled.

As much as this mentality reminded her of her father or her uncle, Henry, she knew, was not an impetuous warrior like they were. Henry was not the type of man to rashly unsheathe his sword and join the charge. No, he was the sort of leader who would not join in the thick of things. He was the sort of leader to direct from the hilltop, to watch the big picture unfurl and orchestrate the necessary maneuvers with both a physical and a mental distance. He was careful, calculating. This much she had already surmised from their relatively short acquaintance.

Elizabeth lifted the lid on one of the coffers that stood by the hearth, inside was a treasure trove of books. She pulled them out one by one, their subject matter as diverse as the languages they were authored in. Latin, Greek, French, Breton, English, religious, philosophical, economical, practical, and poetic.

“Do you enjoy reading?”

Elizabeth dropped a book of poems she had been leafing through and looked over her shoulder. Henry was carefully folding his robe and placing back in a chest.

“I do.” She began hurriedly collecting the books together to put them away.

“Here.” He came to kneel beside her, placing a hand on her arm to stay her. “You needn’t worry about clearing these up.”

She continued anyhow, “I took them out, it would not be right if I just left them on the floor.”

“Then I shall help you.” He began heaping the books in the coffer in tidy stacks, “If there is ever a book you want to read… what is mine is yours.” He closed the lid when the task was complete.

Five or six boys entered the room with covered trays, depositing them on the sturdy table that dominated the room. Henry made his way to the head of the table. “Come sit by me, Bess.” He said when he saw her eyeing the chair at the other end of the table. Henry gestured to the chair at his right hand, its back to the warm fire that flared in the hearth.

As Henry pulled out the chair for her she noticed the serving boys bowing out of the chambers. Apparently they would not be served tonight, Elizabeth noticed with a sense of gratefulness.

“I thought we could dine alone tonight.” Henry said after blessing their supper in hushed tones, “Though I shall strive to be as dutiful to you as any serving man in seeing to your desires.”

Elizabeth smiled as he header servings of food on her plate first. She was glad he was not to proud to see to his own wife, personally. “Thank you.”

He nodded his welcome and served himself second. “We are soon to set out on progress. Before the month’s end.”

She poured them each a cup of wine. “So soon?” By her own estimation she had only been at Westminster for a month, no longer.

“It is important for the people to see their King and Queen. And it is equally important for the king and queen to see their people.” Of course he was right, but she still resisted the idea of packing up and moving along again so soon. “It won’t be for another few weeks, Bess. Besides, then we can tour our kingdom together.”

“Yes,” She said above the rim of her cup, “I should like that.”

They ate in silence for a moment, Elizabeth unsure of how to progress. She had hoped they would be able to settle down at Westminster for a time and enjoy their new marriage.

“I am sorry I was not able to spend the day with you.” He said quietly.

Elizabeth set down her cup abruptly, “No, no. I am sorry I told you to leave this morning.” The very thought had been hounding her all day in the back of her mind.

Henry smiled discreetly, “You did no such thing.”

“Oh, but I did. I – I told you that you had to go run your kingdom – that you had to get dressed and leave.”

He reached for her hand where it lay on the table top, pressing her palm earnestly, “It was the sensible thing to say, you needn’t trouble yourself, Bess. Besides,” He continued with a grin, “I have planned an outing for us tomorrow.”

Relieved he was not upset with her, Elizabeth squeezed his hand as well. “Yes?”

“We are to travel by barge to Eltham. From there I have arranged to have two fine horses ready for us so we can ride the parklands together.”

“What about guards and stewards and retainers?” She asked, knowing now his penchant for privacy.

“No more than a shout away, but on strict orders to make themselves scarce.” 

“Ah, now it is you who is the sensible one.” Her voice adopted a playful tone.

Henry ducked his head and picked at some cold ham on his plate. “I am often leveled with this accusation.” He said before meeting her eye, “But I must confess around you I feel a changed man.”

Heart pounding, Elizabeth feigned nonchalance. “How is that?”

“I feel I can finally let down my guard.” He continued to pick at his food, “I feel the same comfort around you that I feel around my uncle Jasper, my mother, and a few others.”

Elizabeth shifted in her chair, unable to understand how she felt about this apparent revelation. “Oh,” She looked away and took a sip of wine. For a moment she had thought he felt something special toward her. She was glad he at least had her on equal footing with his family. She could hardly feel crestfallen that he classed her among his most esteemed and trusted companions and advisors. This was, perhaps, the most she could hope for, given the circumstances of their marriage. Surely, she thought, respect and trust would be enough for their relationship.

Perhaps sensing he had made some misstep, Henry attempted to change subjects, with not a little awkwardness. “I apologize for my manners or mannerisms, I was not raised in the company of fine ladies such as yourself.” He gestured to her. “My time in Wales and Brittany was, regrettably, spent mostly with men.”

She waved a hand, “No apology necessary.”

“I do not know all the right things to say, or all the right ways to say them. Please bear with me as I learn to express myself to you.” He fiddled with the laces of his doublet. “But I – I enjoy your company.” She nodded and he continued after glancing at her, “And, I find you agreeable.” He bit his lip to conceal the smile that crept to his lips. “And… last night…” He let the thought trail off, looking up to search her eyes.

What he was thinking did not need to be said, she could read it in his bright, but still somewhat guarded, expression. Her cheeks grew hot and she pressed a hand to her chest as if to still her pounding heart.

“I’m sorry.” He looked appropriately abashed, “I did not mean to go on so, or to embarrass you.”

“It’s fine.” She continued eating. She wanted to tell him she enjoyed his company also, that she looked forward to their ride the next day, that she felt safe with him, that he made her so very happy, and so much more. But Elizabeth was not a forward woman, and she felt she did not know him well enough to say such things.

****

The pitter patter of rain on the glass windows awoke Elizabeth, though she was sure it had begun raining long hours before. 

Peeking open her eyes she was greeted by the warm light of a fire, visible where the green cloth of gold bed hangings stood agape. She could see a slender figure crouched by the hearth wearing only breeches, tawny curls brushing his well-muscled shoulders. Rolling on to her side, Henry turned to look at her over his shoulder.

It was still quite dark in his chambers and Elizabeth figured it must be the wee hours of the morning. “Come back to bed.” She said sleepily, hugging the coverlet tighter to herself to hide the grin that spread across her lips.

“As my queen commands.” Henry slipped under the coverlet. The night before Elizabeth had begged him to tell her about all of the faraway places he had lived, stories to send her to sleep. He proved an able story-teller, vividly described to her the moors, marches, and seaside of Wales. Then he had transported her to Brittany, telling her of the people, the court, and the lands. “It rains.” He said, running his fingers through her long golden hair, “heavily.” He traced a finger over her cheek. “Our day at Eltham has been cancelled.”

Their day, the day he had planned just for her. She had so been looking forward to it. 

“I’m sorry our day has been ruined, Henry.”

“Far from ruined.” He pulled her roughly to himself and kissed her deeply. “I have instructed my men not to disturb us in here today.” Henry rolled her on top of him, kissing her urgently.

“Henry, you can’t be serious.” She laughed.

His lip twisted with a grin, “I think you’ll find I am very serious.” And with that he drew her back to him. 

****

They did spend the day together, as well as most of the nights for the next few weeks. Sometimes she would wake in the night to find Henry scratching out correspondence by dim candlelight or leaning over a map sprawled over a table. Sometimes he would solicit her opinion or advice on a matter that troubled him. Sometimes he would ask her how her father had handled certain situations or what she thought he should do. He was a man haunted by the duty that weighed heavy on his shoulders.

As much as she worried about Henry overworking himself, she was glad that he allowed her to be a pillar of support for him. She was pleased to lend him an ear, offer advice, or just take his mind entirely off of what troubled him.

She fancied herself that they worked quite well together. Indeed, even Lady Margaret had commended her for carrying out her queenly and well as her wifely duties in an exemplary fashion. She informed Elizabeth that Henry only ever spoke highly of his dearest consort.

In time, she had grown accustom to Henry, to his informal way with her, to his wish to see her every night, even if only to lay in bed and talk until they fell asleep. He was good to her, better even then she had ever dared hope. He inquired after her needs, her wants, and her happiness. He often presented her with small gifts, tokens, or compliments.

Yet, still they could be shy around one another. Elizabeth rarely spoke her true mind to him, and he always had some kind of guard up, some form of control that kept her from knowing the real Henry Tudor. She did not have his heart, this much she knew. Similarly, he did not have her’s. She could not love him while he kept her at arm’s length. As much as he asked for her opinion or advice, he did not trust her entirely and she knew it. 

But it was still early days. She did not expect that things would be easy. Then again, she had never expected him to spend so much time or attention on her. She had never expected him to crave her company or seek her council. She had never expected Henry to be who he was at all. When they had first been betrothed it had been a risky maneuver, promising herself to the very man who sought to overthrow her uncle, her king, her kingdom. But the promise had worked out much better than she had ever hoped.

And so, as Elizabeth trod her way to his chambers unbidden she could not help to thing she was sorry to hustle their fledgling relationship forward so abruptly. Passing the guards into his apartments she tiptoed to his study, where she was sure she would find him.

“Henry.” She said softly.

“Yes, Bess?” His attentions did not waiver from the letter he was bent over.

Elizabeth let the silence stretch out between them. Her quietness soon had his attention, and Henry put down his quill and looked up at her. “Is there some matter you wish to discuss?”

“Henry, I believe I am… I…” Her eyes fixed on the carpet and she licked her lips, her mouth had gone inexplicably dry. 

“Is something the matter?” His face was a mask of confusion and concern.

“N-No, I do not think so.” She took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over the stays of her gown before balling them in fists at her sides. “I am pregnant.” She dared to look up, her eyes searching his.

His eyebrows shot up, and his mouth hung agape. “What… al-already?” The parchment he held fluttered from his fingers to the floor.

“You… you are cross with me?” She wrung her hands, blinking back tears. She had been a little afraid that he would be upset with her for falling pregnant so soon, for interrupting the fun they were having getting to know one another.

Henry stood abruptly, “Cross? What, no!” He quickly moved around the desk to take her carefully in his arms, “I could not be more pleased!” He kissed her hair, “Of course, I am a little surprised it has happened so quickly.”

“It may have been a short time, but we have-“ she could not help but giggle, “we have been together so often.”

Elizabeth was surprised to hear Henry chuckle softly, “Yes, well what can I say, Bess, I quite enjoy your… company.” The mirth in his expression was soon replaced by tenderness, as he stroked her cheek. She could see it in his eyes, something she had never seen in him before but recognized immediately for what it was. Love. Whether it was love for her or for their unborn child she did not know and dared not ask.

“Henry,” She said stoking the nape of his neck, “can we keep this to ourselves for a short while?”

“Bess?” 

“Just a little while. As soon as it is announced, this child becomes England’s, and he will never be ours again. I would that he were just ours for a short while yet.” She fiddled with the collar of his dark green velvet doublet.

“Why do you say ‘he’?” Henry asked, trying to hold back a grin.

Elizabeth had not even realized she had referred to their baby as such, “In truth, I do not know. Maybe because I hope so dearly I am able to deliver you a son.”

“I pray you may. As for your request, I shall try to keep this just for us for a few days. But as it is now, I can scarce keep from shouting the news from the parapet of the Tower.”

Elizabeth had never been quite so happy in her life as she was at that moment. She was happy that she made Henry happy. She was overjoyed that they were soon to have a child. And while she had great admiration for her husband, she did not know that she necessarily loved him. But this child would forge a new strength in the bond between them, like a braided rope, she was sure of it.


	9. Misconceptions

She was supposed to be in bed, sleeping. And she was abed, but stirring. Henry was an early riser, always climbing from bed when the first rays of sunlight gilded the horizon with a blaze of gold. Often he would sneak from bed like a thief, stealing precious moments from his sleep to get a head start on his business for the day. He thought she didn’t know that he would creep to his desk to squeeze in some work before slipping back into the bed just before she would wake. But she knew.

Between the bed hangings she could glimpse her husband bent over his desk, back to her. She could tell by his posture that he was writing. He always crouched over his work, straining to make out what his poor eye sight prevented him from seeing.

Elizabeth slipped silently from the bed and padded across the room, morning light painting the room in sumptuous hues of yellow and orange. Sliding her hands down his chest she leaned over so her chin rested on his shoulder, “What are you working on?”

Henry lifted one of her hands to his lips to kiss it, “A little of this, a little of that.” By his shy smile she could tell he was up to something, a gift for her, no doubt. “It is still early, you should be sleeping.” 

“You could do with some of your own advice.” She turned to kiss his cheek.

Moving to sit his chair sideways, Henry pulled his wife onto his knee. “Yes, but I am a King, I have a kingdom to mind, one does not need sleep for that.” Grinning he tentatively placed a hand on the tiny swell of her belly, “you on the other hand, are a Queen and have a child to grow, sleep is very important for you.”

Elizabeth laughed, “Growing a child!” She chided “Like a gardener does a plant!”

Cheeks growing hot, Henry closed his eyes and shook his head, curls bouncing. “As I’ve said, Bess, I do not always know the right way to say things.”

This much she knew was true. Try as he might, sometimes he simply said things wrong, especially to her. She did not know if it was down to confusion borne of his study of many languages, or the nervousness she could still sense in him when he was around her. They were comfortable together, at least more comfortable than they had been. But their marriage was still young and she still felt as if he did not trust her to know him completely.

Henry caught her eye, hand still on her belly. There was a question in his glance, he sought permission and she nodded. He seemed almost perplexed and in disbelief that their child was indeed within her, and had taken to rubbing the small bump from time to time. Certainly he was proud of himself, impregnating his Queen so soon. Elizabeth viewed the pregnancy as a good omen that, if nothing else, theirs should be a fruitful marriage in years to come. 

While he was momentarily preoccupied, Elizabeth took the opportunity to glimpse the papers on his desk. An order, she saw, for ermine and velvet, an itinerary for the impending progress, an accounting of Henry’s purse, an unfinished letter to his mother who had returned to Coldharbour House for a time. Even without reading the few lines written in Henry’s cramped, precise hand, Elizabeth knew the letter was to inform his mother of their new joy.

She lifted a sheaf of paper to read it. The progress itinerary. They were to set off in two short month, Elizabeth was far from packed. The sheet was crowded with neat columns of dates, places, distances, times, names, and more. Some items had been marked through and were corrected in Henry’s own hand which she had grown to know by sight. The man was always working through papers, it seemed.

“What have you got there?” Henry peered at the parchment. “Ah, yes. I have been meaning to speak to you about this.” His face was suddenly grave.

Unable to account to the sudden change in his demeanor, Elizabeth stood and busied herself looking for her fur wrap to guard her against the chill in the room. “Yes?”

“I am afraid you will not be accompanying me,” he paused, “dearest.”

Elizabeth continued her hunt for the wrap in one of her deeper chests, giving him no indication of acknowledgment. At first he had insisted that they go on progress directly after their wedding, now he was disinviting her from this, their first public appearance since the nuptials. 

Behind her back Henry sighed, and she could hear the sound of wood scraping wood as he pushed his chair from his desk to stand. “I think only of the safety of our child.”

Unbidden, she shot him a look over her shoulder, before she even knew what she was doing.

“And of your own safety, of course, Bess!” The correction was hasty.

Heaping clothes on top of one another in the chest in a messy pile of silk, linen, and wool, Elizabeth leaned over the disorder she was creating. “I suppose it is understandable.” She conceded, heavily.

“But I shall have my mother come and keep you company.” He was saying, “And you will have some of my best men as well.” 

Spying the wrap at the bottom of the chest, Elizabeth snatched it up and threw it over her shoulders. “Your best men? I am sure myself, my ladies, and attendants can manage well enough. You worry yourself too much.”

“Indeed, I do not.”

“Henry, you are only leaving me for a few months.” She peered out the window to study some horses that were being led through the yard. “I can assure you I shall not be doing much whilst you are away. I hardly think I shall be in need of some of your finest men. They shall be put to better use in your service.”

“They shall transport you to Winchester, and I mean for you and the child to arrive there safe.”

Elizabeth whirled about. “Winchester? Why am I for Winchester?” She had fancied, for the brief moment she had known she was not to join her king on progress, that she would spend the spring in Eltham where she could enjoy the fine park before she went into her confinement.

“Winchester is my ancestral home. My people are decedents of King Arthur.” He announced. Elizabeth was ready to laugh, until he continued on in the same matter of fact tone, “In fact, genealogists have traced our family back to Cadwaladr.” There was no hint of a jest.

He truly seemed to fervently believe what he was saying, and Elizabeth dared not express her doubts. “Why Winchester?” She repeated, instead, unable to connect what he was telling her to the place he was sending her.

“Well, because Winchester is King Arthur’s Camelot. The name may have changed through the Centuries, but I assure you, it is his castle. Why, even his round table is still there.” He must have seen the confusion that played in her eyes behind the mask of understanding she had put up. “Certainly you know of the tales of King Arthur?”

“Some.” She moved to sit on the foot of the bed. “Will you tell me a story, Henry?”

He turned to look out the window, trying to ascertain the time by how light it had grown outside. The sky had turned to dusty pinks and purples, while a powdery blue tone frothed the bottoms of the clouds that sailed the horizon, like so many ships at sea.

“It’s still early,” she encouraged him, scooting back so she reclined on the bed, she so loved when he would tell her stories. His face would become expressive, and his voice would rise and fall in all the right places, and he would paint a world for her so vivid she could even think that she was there in the story herself. “Besides, soon you shall be gone from me. Spend some time with me while you can.” 

His shoulders loosened and she knew she had won him over. Though he was King, she instinctively knew she possessed at least some type of power over a small, secret part of her husband. With a smirk he came to join her on the bed to regale her with stories of the famed King of legend.

****

The long journey to Lincoln for Easter was made all the longer by the heavy spring showers, which converted the trusty roads into mires of mud. The slow progress and virtually impassable roads combined with heavy bouts of morning sickness made the Queen a rather undesirable companion. Normally bright and pleasant, she had turned taciturn in an attempt to keep her foul moods to herself. 

Stopping in Peterborough one night Elizabeth shared a room with Henry at Longthorpe. Though she knew he meant well, Elizabeth found Henry’s attentions annoying after so long a day on the road, swatting him away when he came to help her into bed.

“I can do some things on my own.” She muttered irritably when he offered her a hand, hitching herself up awkwardly onto the high bed. The master of the manor, a man with some notoriety through Peterborough Abbey, had made up his own rooms for them for the occasion, indulging in all new furniture and bedding.

“I am sorry about the road conditions and the—“ He began before Elizabeth cut him off.

“Well I do not know what you were thinking, having us celebrate Easter all the way out in Lincoln!” She huffed, rearranging the pillows behind her with more roughness than was necessary.

“I do apologize, dearest.”

“Do not think that you can placate me with pet names.” She crossed her arms under her breasts as she watched him come around the bed to his side. “You know Lincoln is a long journey from London, and you know that Springs are wet. I fail to understand what convinced you this was a good idea.”

Henry’s lips twitched down into a frown. “Did not your father spend Easter in—“

“Do not speak to me of my father.” She quipped, now that her hackles were raised there was little chance she would back off the fight. It had always been thus when she had got in the rare tussle with her sisters.

He looked wounded, “I am your husband.” He said slowly, but firmly.

“And a fine husband at that! Dragging your pregnant wife the length of the kingdom.”

“I have seen to your every need, if not personally then I have had another do in my stead. Lord help me Bess, I am doing the best I can!” He climbed into the bed next to her, but kept his distance. “You think I take pleasure in seeing you thus, weary and feverish? I do not!”

“I think you care more about your crown than your wife, or even your child. You only travel to Lincoln to show your face, to act the benevolent master and win the approval of the people.”

His face was turning rather red, and his nose wrinkled when his lips parted in a snarl, “I will not have you speak to me thus. I am your husband.”

“I, sir, am your wife. A Queen, and a princess at that. I won no titles, they are mine by right.” She spat venomously, “I have never been and shall never be treated with so little regard as you have shown me of late.”

She had never seen such anger in his expression before, his very gaze could have shattered diamonds. It was then she knew that she had won. Oh, but at what cost? “You are obviously overtired and delirious, my lady.” His voice sounded strangled, as if he were struggling to control the words he emitted. “Perhaps you should get some rest. I bid you a good night.” And with that he blew out the candle.

The next morning she woke to an empty bed, there was no trace of Henry at all in the room. She found him soon enough and they were on the road again. The remainder of the journey had the added discomfort of the rift that had opened up between them. She wanted to apologize, but something in her prevented it. She felt horrible about some of the things she had said, but she couldn’t help but still feel upset with him.

No sooner had they arrived at Lincoln, and before they had a chance to settle in at all, Henry was riding off with Jasper Tudor at the head of a force of men, off to quell some insurrection that had cropped up to the north. In his absence she continued to reflect on the fight and the discord between them. Lady Margaret, sensing the tension between them, soothed Elizabeth without prying into the matter. 

Somewhat consoled by Lady Margaret’s insight, Elizabeth went to her husband upon his safe return, all apologies. She suspected that distance and time had softened his heart for he accepted her apologies with ease, offering his own to her as well. Back in one another’s good graces they were able to pass a happy Easter at Lincoln, Henry bestowing on Elizabeth new velvet and ermine robes for the occasion. She tried to enjoy their brief time together, though their argument still chaffed at her memory. All had been forgiven on both sides, but in word only. When she caught his eye from time to time she could see it there simmering just below the surface, distrust.

****

It was a dreary, misty morning when Elizabeth said goodbye to Henry just outside of Westminster. They had stiffly pressed a kiss to one another’s cheek, as ceremony dictated. But ceremony did not keep Henry from slyly placing a hand on her belly, a gesture of farewell to their unborn child. “Try not to have him while I’m gone, Bess.” He murmured for the benefit of her ears only.

“I can make no promises, your grace.” She whispered back, looking over his shoulder at the men mounted on their horses behind him, his retinue. 

She did not urge him to hurry home, she did not plead with him to stay, she did not ask him to think of her fondly. She simply let him mount his horse. Would she miss him while he was gone? Elizabeth was not quite sure. Of course her days would be different from what they had been, or rather her nights and mornings, for that was when she was able to see her husband. But she was not entirely convinced that she would truly miss him.

A large part of her was certain he would return to her, devoid of scratches and scars. And then she could offer up a son to him, and he would be pleased with her. Then maybe the worry that so often creased his forehead would vanish, at least for a time. Henry knew it was a son, that was not what worried him, it was the health of the child that preoccupied him. 

At first Elizabeth had thought it was herself that Henry was tending to so closely, but then she realized it was the child. He was always telling her to rest, to take fresh air, to eat this, to refrain from that, to take some exercise – but not too much! 

He had, as she suspected, written to his mother who, having returned to Coldharbour House after returning from Lincoln, had arrived at court mere hours after the letter had been dispatched. The woman had taken a hold of Elizabeth’s household the moment she crossed the threshold into the Queen’s apartments. With all of the fuss over the Queen, Henry decided the time was right make the announcement. The bells of London had tolled for the better part of the day, and Elizabeth received news of how the announcement had stirred the people to joy and renewed their loyalty to their king.

With the hustle and bustle of Lady Margaret, Elizabeth was glad of the reprieve that was Cecily and in her wake, their sister Katherine, newly arrived at court. Together, her two sisters kept her grounded while Lady Margaret planned out the life of the unborn prince down to the color of his hose. Letters from her mother relayed to Elizabeth the joy she felt at finding she was soon to be a grandmother. 

Months passed. Each week Elizabeth found herself in possession of at least two new letters from her husband, notes scribbled messily by candlelight. But she was satisfied that he thought of her. He told her of faraway places and people with strange customs. He would describe to her sublime landscapes of undulating hills carpeted in a renaissance of perennial blooms, of seaside towns thrashed with snarls of squalls that chilled men with frigid water to the bone, of serene meadows said to be a gathering place for fairies. The people were just as colorful as the places, with their peculiar traditions and manners.

Elizabeth wrote him back, though not so frequently. She found she had little to relate to him aside from her condition and the minor occurrences of her day to day life. Though the pregnancy was somewhat difficult and she suffered many unpleasantries due to it, she always told Henry she was well and that the child was healthy. To tell him otherwise, she knew, would be tantamount to demanding he return immediately. 

The days had become a routine of sickness, preparing for the prince’s arrival, managing her household, and stealing away a few hours for herself. Her writing had improved dramatically through a combination of practice and patience. Verse came to her easier now, and she was able to compose whole poems in a single sitting. While she prided herself on her personal accomplishments, she dare not share the fruits of her labor with anyone. On occasion she would read some of her poetry to Cecily, though it was not without a measure of unchecked embarrassment on her part and much encouragement and praise on Cecily’s. 

She did not miss Henry. She felt she did not know him well enough to miss him. Of course, Elizabeth would be sad if he never returned, but she knew that was not to be the case. Or, at least, she did not miss Henry until she heard the news; news which was never meant to reach her ears.

It was a still, crisp day in early Spring and Elizabeth was in her apartments at Westminster sewing with her ladies and Lady Margaret, with a harpist there to entertain them. The baby would be needing a gown for christening and Elizabeth had assigned a particular part of the tiny ensemble to each of her ladies. Lady Margaret had been working her needle and thread on the bonnet when a messenger was admitted to the room with a message for “My Lady the King’s Mother.” The stilted and cumbersome title was a constant reminder to Elizabeth that Lady Margaret demanded respect and a reminder to Lady Margaret that she was not the dowager Queen she wished she was.

Elizabeth paid little heed to Lady Margaret beside her as the older woman’s eyes scanned the parchment which had been delivered to her. She herself was engrossed in working a particularly costly bit of lace to the hem of one of the sleeves of the gown. Out of the corner of her eye she could see her mother-in-law’s fingers curl tightly around the edge of note, as if ready to tear it. She looked to the woman’s face, which had gone ashen and drawn, green eyes doleful and her mouth a hard, taught line. 

“Ladies, I fear I am well fatigued.” Elizabeth announced pleasantly, placing her work in what lap her swollen belly allowed her. “I should like to lie down. You are all excused.”

Lady Margaret stood swiftly, much more abruptly than the other, note clutched to her stomach, clearly trying to keep it from her daughter-in-law’s sight. Why? Elizabeth reached out to place a hand on Lady Margaret’s arm as the other ladies were bobbing hasty curtsies and leaving. “Oh, my lady mother, I have need of you though.” She said sweetly.

“Of course.” She dipped her chin in deference to the younger woman’s wishes.

When all of the women had retreated from the apartments, Elizabeth stood with a little difficulty. She was not so far gone in her pregnancy that she felt unwieldy, but she was rather round and not a little sore from the uncomfortable occasions that presented themselves. 

“I see you have a note.” Elizabeth said as she dropped her sewing in her basket, “Some information of our men in the north, perhaps?” 

There was a little hesitation. “Perhaps.” She allowed, “But I can assure you all is well.”

Elizabeth carried her basket to the window, “While you are a prodigious schemer, if you will allow me to say so, my lady, you are a poor liar when it comes to matters concerning your son.” She rounded on the woman, mustering up as much nerve as she could in face of such an imposing institution as the King’s mother, “I demand you tell me if anything untoward has happened to my husband, the King.”

Lady Margaret’s eyes narrowed, she was unused to Elizabeth making demands of her. Their relationship was harmonious and symbiotic, no matter how many times she trod on the Queen’s toes. “Nothing has happened to the King.”

“Lies!” Elizabeth cried, she had lately taken to sudden and dramatic swings in her temperament and often felt very little like herself. “I am sorry, Lady Margaret. You must understand my concern for my husband, especially when I am certain you are withholding information from me.”

With a look of resignation Lady Margaret took Elizabeth’s hand gently before giving it a squeeze. “There has been some rascal in the north who has made several attempts on his grace’s life. The letter today was that there has been yet another attempt. However, this rascal does not seem to be a very smart or skilled one, for Henry has escaped harm each time.” She stroked Elizabeth’s hair back under her hood, a simple but tender gesture, “And no harm shall come to his grace while he is with his men. You must believe me.”

“He must return.” Elizabeth frowned, “Why has he not returned?”

“And signal defeat? Fear of his own people? No, he must continue on, just as everything has been planned. He cannot show any sign of weakness.” Lady Margaret smoothed a thumb over Elizabeth’s cheek. “You cannot, and must not despair. Pray for your husband, but worry not about his safety. He would not want you to worry about him, least of all when you are carrying his son.”

Elizabeth straightened her posture as she took a deep breath, “Yes, of course.” But her concern was not totally dissipated, “You’re quite sure that no harm will come to him?”

“Positive.” Lady Margaret cracked a smile. “Now, be sure to pray the Lord’s protection on him, your child, and yourself.” 

The news of the recent attempt was followed quickly by a letter from Lord Stanley guaranteeing the safety of the King and all his retinue. Shortly after came a letter from Henry to Elizabeth, making no allusions to the misfortunes which had befell him on the road. He wrote to her of how pleasant the weather was become, how he had come into a gift he could not wait to bestow on her, and how he prayed nightly for his dear wife and their child. Elizabeth read the letter over and over, as she had never done with his dispatches. Even, on one occasion, reading it aloud to their child when she was quite sure she was along.

Too soon she was being packed up and trundled away to Winchester. The journey was a slow moving four and a half day epic. Her ladies all worried over her, fluttering about like unwelcome butterflies, constantly wrapping her in blankets and shoving cushions under her backside. Elizabeth wrote to Henry of her journey, knowing he would be anxiously awaiting news that she was safely ensconced in the ancient home. 

Elizabeth only had a short time to familiarize herself with the aged castle and explore the grounds, before Lady Margaret was ordering her into confinement in Saint Swithun’s Priory. Her rooms were dim and stuffy, with a large roaring fire and oversized bed. She became acquainted with the midwives, who Lady Margaret assured her were the best in the whole of the realm and came with highest praise from noble ladies the kingdom over. There was little amusement while in confinement, Elizabeth found, aside from being read to from the scriptures, studying her devotionals, sewing baby clothes, and little else. She received no visitors and only a select few were permitted to be admitted.

But her’s was not to be length confinement, or at least not as lengthy as Lady Margaret initially told her it would be. For the baby came early. The long labor ended well after nightfall, when she was delivered of a baby boy. “A prince!” She cried when the child was presented to her, the woes of her difficult labor immediately forgotten, replaced with an indescribably joy.

“I must write to the King!” Lady Margaret said marveling at the baby’s small hands as Elizabeth took the baby into her arms.

“Indeed.” Elizabeth said, “Ah, but I have strict orders for all of my household. No one is to let the King know the baby’s sex, I would tell my husband that happy news myself.”

“He already said all along he knows it is a boy.” Lady Margaret laughed, near to tears with a happiness that matched Elizabeth’s, as though the child were her own.

“Yes, he says he knows, but he will still be wanting to know definitively, and I would like that joy.”

Lady Margaret nodded, “As you wish your grace.” She planted a kiss on Elizabeth’s forehead as she stood to join her daughter-in-law on the bed. Elizabeth passed the tiny bundle swaddled in blankets to the Lady. “And what is our new Prince’s name to be?”

Henry’s parting instructions had been explicit, “His name is Arthur.”

“I should have guessed.” She murmured, both women smiling down at the sleeping baby.

With Lady Margaret’s letter announcing the birth of the royal child, the King briskly ordered his retinue return to London before setting off for Winchester at breakneck speed. Lord Stanley reported that he had to beg Henry to sleep at night, for the man would have rode straight through otherwise, so single minded was he in his endeavor. 

It was only a short while after the birth that Henry arrived at Winchester, sore and weary in the darkest hours of the night. She heard tell from Lady Margaret in the morning that he had demanded he be admitted to her chambers so he could see his wife and child. But, she reported, she had staunchly refused him admittance as Elizabeth had not been churched yet, and besides the hour of his arrival was far too late for it to be seemly for him to visit.

Elizabeth made sure she was churched straight away so that Henry could visit her at his leisure that day. And he did. She knew it was him even before he came through the doors. Elizabeth had made herself ready, wanting to please him even if she was still, for the most part, confined to her bed. That morning she’d had her hair brushed out and left loose and had changed into a nicer shift, with a delicate lace collar. Little Arthur was resting in her arms when Henry made his way cautiously into the chambers.

“My King.” Elizabeth used his formal address in a playful tone.

He bowed to her, doffing his cap. “I hear my Queen has a gift for me.”

“Indeed, come and see.”

Henry came about the bed, clearly more than a little nervous. His eyes sparkled with anticipation, but his movements were slow and deliberate. Elizabeth thought he looked well, his face was tanned a little by the sun and his cheeks had a healthful pink glow to them, progress had agreed with him. Though there was some shaggy stubble along his jaw and above his lip which she found surprisingly attractive on him.

He was standing beside the bed now, wringing his felt cap in his hands, leaning over to get a look at the child. “Come and sit. You needn’t be so… anxious. We are not made of glass.” 

Sitting beside her he asked, “Who is this, dearest?”

“Arthur, your son.” She handed the child over to him, helping to arrange the baby in arms unfamiliar with holding an infant.

Henry turned to his wife beaming ecstatically, a look of almost disbelief on his face. “A son? Truly?” She nodded. “Oh, Bess! Oh my dearest, sweetest wife.” There was a hint of a tear in his blue eyes as he stroked the scanty growth of ginger hair on his child’s head. “God has blessed us beyond measure.” He smiled at her, “You have blessed me beyond measure.”

She watched as Henry admired and wondered at their son. “He is strong and healthy. He’ll grow into a fine boy, everyone is sure of it.”

“He is so small, Bess, are they always so small?”

She picked up the baby’s tiny bonnet from where it lay on the bedding, slipping it onto the baby’s head, “Well, he is quite small, yes,” She responded as she knotted the bonnet’s ribbon under his wobbly chin, “But Arthur is perfectly healthy, and he will grow. All babies do.”

“See his nose and his lips, he takes after his mother.” Henry said, as the child grasped his finger, yawning widely.

“I thought he looked remarkably like you, husband.” She cozied up to his free arm, which he moved so to hug her to him as they both watched their baby.

“I have missed you so, dear Bess.” He said after a while. “Going on progress without you was… well, I felt a part of me was missing.” She felt him kiss her hair and she snuggled in closer to him. “But to return to you, to a family… Oh, Bess, my heart could burst.”

Elizabeth did not know it until that moment, but she had missed Henry. She had missed him from the moment he left the palace yard. Never had she admitted it to herself, lest the feeling grow and she become lost in it, but she had missed him. Though they did not know each other properly yet, Elizabeth knew they had a deep and lasting connection. But there was more, she was starting to discover that she was growing to care for Henry in a way that surprised her.


	10. When the Rain Comes

Autumn came swiftly on the winds that snapped and chilled. The trees that had been heavy laden with fruit and multitudes of lively leaves soon shed both, and only crisp foliage clung to the barren limbs, setting the forest to a blaze of color. Clouds crowded the sky, letting through only the meagerest of sunlight, and the world became cloaked in a damp sort of grayness. 

The firm outer skin of the apple broke under Elizabeth’s teeth as she bit into the fruit. From her seat between the window and the fire should could watch baby Arthur’s tiny chest rise and fall in peaceful sleep, while still keeping an eye on the outside world. Henry was due to return from London this afternoon. He and Lady Margaret had advised her to stay at Winchester with the baby for a time while the child was still small. But Elizabeth was crestfallen when only two short days after the birth, Henry had set off for London again.

While she longed to return to London herself, to rejoin court and show off their fine prince, Elizabeth had been enjoying the solitude and simplicity of life at Winchester. Moreover, her mother had arrived as Henry was leaving, ready to join forces with Lady Margaret in instructing her in the care of a prince. Arthur had been baptized only days after his birth at Winchester Cathedral, Elizabeth’s mother and her sister Cecily taking turns holding the flame haired progeny and godson. John de Vere, Lord Stanley, and William FizAlan were also in attendance as godfathers.

Arthur was roundly commended as a fine lad and a lusty heir by all. The ladies took to squabbling over who the child looked like more, though Elizabeth could not attest to who she believed the child looked like, at least not just yet. After the baptism all but her mother and Lady Margaret left Winchester, returning to the draws of court life.

The women fell back into their old ways soon enough. The two had known each other for years, and had a healthy respect for one another. While Lady Margaret had always been a presence in Elizabeth’s young life, it was only now that she saw the women for their similarities and not their differences. Both were headstrong, cunning, and focused on the success of their children. 

The mist that seeped from the treeline to shroud the lawns that sloped down from the castle were pierced by a small band of riders. Henry and his men no doubt. “Daddy’s here!” She whispered in sing song to her son as she bent to gently lift Prince Arthur from his cradle. Wrapping him in sturdy blankets she hugged the child to her breast as she made her way from the small nursery. 

Elizabeth had done her best earlier to make herself beautiful, applying some rouge to her slightly plumper cheeks and dressing herself in a rather snug fitting gown that she knew was her husband’s favorite from among her wardrobe. Childbearing had rendered her somewhat stouter, her arms fleshier, her hips rounder, her bosom… well, she doubted he would mind that. Her mother had assured her some of the changes to her body were temporary and that she would feel herself again in a few months. But she hardly felt herself at all, she was not the young, lithe beauty she had been less than a year ago when they had met. She had not seen him since the birth over a month ago and worried Henry would no longer be pleased by her. 

Sweeping down the stairs she found her mother and Lady Margaret already waiting in the hall. Little Arthur fussed in her arms, his lips pursing into a pout and his nose wrinkling, just as Henry’s did when he was upset. She bounced the baby tenderly in her arms, cooing to him as she stroked his cheek, the poor child simply wanted to return to his sleep. 

The doors parted and a cool wind gusted through the hall to flirt with the ladies’ skirts. Henry strode in, flanked by Edward Woodville and Jasper Tudor, two of his favorites. Lady Margaret and her own mother made shallow curtsies.

“Lady Mother. Your grace.” He addressed the women as he kissed each of their hands. “And my two greatest joys in life. My lovely wife and my sweet son!” He moved toward Elizabeth and placed one hand on her waist and while touching his son’s head in blessing with the other. Henry leaned forward and kissed Elizabeth softly and quickly. He was not given to showing her overmuch outpourings of affection while they were in the company of others. “You both look well.” He remarked with a grin.

“Indeed your grace. I have taken great pains to ensure your heir wants for nothing and is kept in good health.” Elizabeth smiled to herself as she arranged the baby’s blankets to guard him against the chill from the still open doors. Lady Margaret stood in the doorway instructing the servants as to what to do with the horses and chests and coffers and so on, though the men most certainly already knew what to do without instruction.

“Your grace must have worked up quite an appetite on the road,” Her mother began, “We have arranged a fine supper tonight to enjoy together. Until then, we have had your usual rooms made ready for you, as I imagine you must wish to retire for a time and refresh.” 

“My thanks, your grace.” Henry bowed his head. “Queen Bess, would you accompany me?” 

“I would be glad to.” His address amused her, a mixture of the formal and the informal, a reflection of the King himself in some respects. Or, at least, of the King Henry she knew. “How was your journey?” She asked, once they were in the corridor together.

“Fine. We made good time too.” He felt closed off from her, somehow. 

“And court, how is court?”

“Court is… court. Many have returned home, and I am much in the company of some of my finest advisors.”

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Why have many left court?”

Henry turned to her, a smile on his face that did not detract from the strain in his eyes. “I suppose many wish to be with their families at this time. It signals nothing my dear.”

“Nothing?” She raised a brow.

He placed a hand on her forearm. “Nothing you need worry about.”

Ah, she had been right. But she would not press him, not now anyhow. There were other ways to work knowledge from the man, ways he did not even realize. Besides, even she had heard tell of unrest in the kingdom, and there was no reason to bring such a worrisome thing to the surface now, not when she hadn’t seen her husband in well over a month. “Then I shall not worry about it. But I shall worry about you, husband. That base need no man can deprive his wife of.”

“I suppose I shall allow it, then.” He reached out to her and took Arthur in his arms, “He is heavier than when I held him last.” Henry said, leading them toward the nursery.

Elizabeth nodded, “He grows,” she agreed, “More each day.”

“And is he a good tempered child, still?”

“Yes very. He does not cry but when he is hungry, and he hardly ever works himself up into a disagreeable mood.”

“An angel, it would seem.” Henry said as she pushed open the door to the tiny nursery she had established near to her and the King’s rooms.

“A cherub.” 

With more care than was strictly necessary, Henry placed the infant back in his crib, the babe struggling to keep his eyes open. “Can you believe,” Henry whispered as Elizabeth joined her king beside the cradle, “that he is ours, our son? That we… made him… together?”

She had to bite her lip to keep from tittering. It was an incredible thought indeed, but Henry had expressed it in a way she found humorous. It was true men and women made children together, but she had always found a sort of juvenile humor in the turn of phrase. “It is incredible.” She managed.

Surely he suspected something, for Henry turned to her, his lip curled, “What? Did I misspeak?”

“No, oh, no! Not at all.” Her cheeks colored, “I was thinking of something else.”

“Impossible.” He teased, wrapping his arms around her and drawing her to him. “Was is what I said, about making a child?” He asked, cocking his chin, that small grin on his lips spreading as she giggled. “God, I have missed that.”

“What?” She asked brushing the dust of the road from his doublet, and picking an errant leaf from his mop of hair.

He reached out to still her hand, fingers lacing with hers. “That smile. Your smile.” He gazed down into her eyes so intently Elizabeth felt herself shy in his presence.

“Let’s get you to your rooms. I am sure you could do with a change of clothes and some refreshment.” She suggested, a touch flustered. Something about his recent absences from her life had made her somewhat meek in his presence again.

Henry walked with her hand in hand to his apartments where she gladly took on the role of his maid, picking out a new set of clothes from his chest as he unlaced his boots. “Elizabeth,” He said, as she dug through the chest, “You cannot return with me to London. At least, not just yet.”

Her hands froze, and she silently awaited the justification she was sure was to come.

Sighing he tossed the boots aside, and began unlacing his doublet. “There is a sickness in London, some fever. I do not mean to alarm you, but the people who contract it seldom live.”

“Are you not in danger yourself?” She asked, “Tell me you are safe.”

He nodded, shrugging off the green doublet. “I am safe, for now. There have been no reported cases of the illness within the palace walls. All those feeling unwell have been asked to go home. Staff included.”

“Please promise me you’ll keep yourself from harm, Henry.” She tried to keep the anxiety she felt from her voice, instead busying herself with the task at hand, folding the clothes she had selected before setting them on the table for Henry.

“Of course,” He stripped off his shirt and crossed to the basin, where he rinsed his hands and face. “But you and Arthur shall not stay here. You shall go to Fordham, where you will establish his nursery pursuant to my – to our instructions.”

“Our instructions?”

He came to where she stood, droplets of water beaded the plains of his cheeks and forehead. “Yes, wouldn’t you like to be a part of our son’s life?”

“What, and make decisions?”

“Do not mother’s do such things? All I ever had was a mother, and even then hardly at all. I was under the impression mothers made arrangement for their children.”

She hesitated, “Mothers may… but queens, well, they usually defer to their kings in such matters.”

Henry reached for the clean shirt, “Yes, well, I think you have more knowledge on this matter than I.” He pulled the shirt on over his head, “And so it shall be the king who defers to his queen in this case.”

“As you wish.”

Henry dressed quickly and Elizabeth combed the knots out of his hair when he asked her. Together they sat on his bed and talked of nothing at all for a while. He needed an escape from his tumultuous reign, and she was happy to be his escape. She let him lie with his head in her lap, stroking his hair as he told her stories. She asked him to tell her of faraway places, of the fairy stories he had learned in the North, or of simple court gossip.

Too soon it was time to join their mothers for supper in the Dowager Queen’s rooms. It was an intimate and informal meal, like the ones she would have with her parents from time to time when she was a girl. She supposed, now, that this was her family, or at least a part of her family. 

“Well, it is nice to have all of us here to sit down together for a meal for once.” Lady Margaret remarked as she passed the ewer of wine to Elizabeth.

Henry nodded, “Some of my favorite people all together at once, I count myself a fortune man.” As well he should, the chances of so many of different backgrounds getting along as well as they did were slim. Though, she figured, in a way Arthur united them all. A common cause, of sorts.

“We must discuss the Prince’s upbringing.” Lady Margaret dictated, stabbing at the steak on her plate.

“Mother, not now.” Henry said softly.

“Oh, but you must begin early and be prepared.” The Dowager Queen said. “He will be needing a mistress of his nursery and a household, and before long a tutor.”

“You get ahead of yourself mother.” Elizabeth interjected kindly, “Perhaps we should just focus on the nursery for now.”

The two older women exchanged a look. “Just so.” The Dowager Queen said resignedly, forking a lump of potatoes into her mouth. “First things first, you’ll be needing a nurse in charge at Fordham.”

Elizabeth looked at Henry who almost imperceptibly shook his head. Knowing the appropriate woman for the great responsibility was beyond his ken, clearly. Not wanting to exclude Henry from the process Elizabeth suggested the names of some trustworthy and able ladies for the post.

“Oh, what about Elizabeth Darcy?” Her mother proposed after Elizabeth had rattled through a list of names off the cuff.

“To be sure she is a fine woman, and performed the job admirably in the past.” Added Elizabeth thoughtfully.

Henry raised a brow, “How’s that?”

“Why, Mistress Darcy was nurse to both my young boys.”

He steepled his long fingers and looked off into the fire, mired in thought. The women’s eyes cast about to one another. None of them were opposed to the idea, for obvious reasons. However, it was up to Henry to come to the conclusion on his own. Certainly he must weigh the good of the decision against the bad. Recycling a woman into the same post she had held under one of Henry’s predecessors on the throne versus the prudence of filling the role with a woman who was clearly capable of raising princes.

“I see nothing too objectionable in the choice.” He muttered, almost to himself. “Bess, shall you send word to Mistress Darcy inviting her to Fordham to take up the position?”

Elizabeth smiled and nodded. “Gladly.”

“Now that that is settled.” Lady Margaret said, primly picking at her vegetables, “there is still the matter of our beloved Queen’s coronation to discuss.”

All eyes turned to Henry. While they could steer him easily on decisions to be made about the child, this was a subject which sat squarely in his preview alone. Not that that fact would keep any of them from attempting to influence him. Influence, when done subtly, was very much a woman’s best weapon, Elizabeth had learned.

Henry reached out to touch his wife’s arm. “I would have you crowned just as soon as I can,” he began, “But London is not safe, at the moment, you understand.” Facing the other women, he continued on in a slightly louder voice, “I will begin planning the ceremony and festivities, but it cannot take place until all is safe. I can hardly be expected to have my queen crowned in the midst of chaos.”

“Of course your grace.” Elizabeth knew her mother’s tone, controlled, but with the taut draw of her lips and her sharp eye there was no denying the Dowager Queen was not satisfied. She had often questioned in her letters why Elizabeth had not been crowned yet. Certainly she understood the circumstances in the past that had prevented it, but she grew impatient on her daughter’s behalf.

Elizabeth rested her hand atop Henry’s on her arm. “I trust you will know when the time is right.”

“Henry does have a knack for that.” Lady Margaret smirked.

“And does he have a knack for arranging marriages?” Her mother asked.

Henry sighed, “You think of your daughters, Lady Cecily and Lady Anne, no doubt.”

Elizabeth Woodville’s expression softened, “Of course.”

“I do have suitable matches in mind for both of them. It is a matter of finalizing the arrangements.”

“May I ask who, your grace?”

“For Lady Cecily, Sir John Welles, my mother’s half-brother. He has been loyal to me since my days in Brittany and will make a fine husband for your daughter.”

It was a clever match, Elizabeth thought, but would prove especially beneficial to the King. Marrying Cecily to his uncle would secure Henry against those who would seek to marry into the royal family for their own advantage. Marrying their families together was a smart way to keep up-starts far from the throne. 

“And Lady Anne?” Elizabeth asked, “Who do you have in mind for her, husband?”

“Thomas Howard?” Her mother asked.

Henry set down his knife, “I know she was promised to him, but I cannot allow them to wed. His family was against me at Bosworth.”

“And besides,” Elizabeth added tentatively, “He was stripped of all his titles, you know that mother.”

“Betrothals are broken every day. I cannot have my sister-in-law marrying a traitor.”

“Then who?” Her mother pressed.

“I shall find someone suitable for her, I assure you my lady.” His voice sounded testy. Henry had never been one to divulge his plans or inner thoughts, and it was abundantly clear that this was one scheme her mother would not be able make him reveal just yet.

Seeing the disquiet in her mother’s eyes, Elizabeth chimed in gently, “Anne is quite young yet, mother, there is plenty of time to make a good match.” 

The candles burned low as the makeshift family found a less charged conversation to engage in. The women relayed to Henry the details of Arthur’s christening and Elizabeth found herself going on about his small accomplishments such as smiling to sleeping through the night. It was the tiny babe that bound them all together. 

After they had said their goodnights and disbursed, each returned to their own rooms. Elizabeth changed out of her gown and brushed out her hair. She was not surprised to hear the rain thrashing against the window panes, the gloomy clouds had been threatening just such a thing for days. With the rain came peels of thunder and flashes of lightening, illuminating the world outside her window for fractions of a second. 

As she sat brushing out her hair, Elizabeth wondered why Henry had not come to her rooms. She had thought that after being apart for so long, and having not had the pleasure of her company for some time due to their separation during his progress, that he would want to see her tonight. When he came to her at night, he was usually there only a short while after announcing he was retiring for the evening. She furrowed her brows and glared at herself in the looking glass, disappointed in herself for hoping he would want her company tonight. Maybe her new, slightly plumper figure had displeased him after all. 

Finding a robe, she swung the heavy garment about herself and tip-toed into the corridor with a candle. She found herself tracing her usual path to the nursery, she would bid her son goodnight as she normally did and not worry that her husband had not come to her. Maybe the reason was far less sinister than her suspicions. Perhaps he was weary from travel, perhaps he thought it was too soon to enjoy her company again, perhaps he was sat pouring over some letter as she so often found him.

The door to the nursery was ajar when she reached it, and Elizabeth crept silently to peer in the crack. The room was empty, the nurses had been dismissed. Her eyes scanned the room until she found Henry standing before the fire, Arthur bundled in his arms. He was talking softly to the child, words she could not make out from where she stood. Entranced she watched as he bowed his head and closed his eyes, whispering some prayer over Arthur. He made the sign of the cross on his son’s forehead before pressing a kiss to his brow. 

When Henry went to lay the baby back down in the cradle Elizabeth slipped silently from the door and back towards her rooms. She smiled to herself, glad to have secretly witnessed such an intimate tableau. Maybe Henry, despite his outward coolness, would make a good father after all.

“And just what are you doing up, wandering the halls so late?”

Elizabeth froze. She thought she would have plenty of time to get to her apartments before Henry would be out in the hall.

“Certainly you are not up to come see me, for my rooms are just here up ahead and yours are still further down the hall.” He came around her to face his wife. “Were you going to Arthur?”

She nodded.

“But you did not?”

She bit her lip. “It’s just… I saw you in there with him, and… I did not want to disturb.”

“Disturb? How could you? I would have been glad to have you there,” he stroked her arm, lightly, “Our little family together.”

“I – I’m sorry.”

“Are you still afraid of me, Bess?”

“No, I have never been afraid of you.”

“You are shy then?”

She up at him from under her lashes.

“We have been apart too long.” He said, his hand moving down her arm until their palms met. He stepped toward the door to his apartments and tugged at her hand. Moving through and into the rooms, he pushed the door shut behind Elizabeth before pressing her up against the closed door, kissing her hungrily. 

Elizabeth was, in a word, shocked. She had never seen his façade of reserve melted away so. She had never experienced this side of him.

“I have been think of this all day.” He said between quick, stolen kisses, “Dreaming of you all month long.” She worked at the lacings of his dusky green doublet. “Sitting through dinner was torture.” He continued, kissing her neck and shoulders.

“So, you have missed me?”

“Seeing you in the hall when I came in today… well Bess you have always been a beautiful woman, but you had never been so beautiful as when I laid eyes on you today.”

She blushed, her cheeks grew hot and her fingers became clumsy at his the laces. Elizabeth had never heard him praise her so unabashedly, so freely. “No.” The word escaped her lips in a whisper.

“No? No what.” Henry asked, tossing the doublet aside.

“I am not…”

“Not what?”

She couldn’t meet his eyes. “Beautiful.”

Henry brows knit darkly above his eyes, hurt and confused. “What are you talking about? You are absolutely lovely.”

“I am not. Childbirth, it has… changed me.” She felt embarrassed.

“I had not noticed.”

She eyed him sharply.

“Except for ah, maybe some my favorite of your assets were, ah, enhanced.”

Elizabeth could not help but crack a smile. “You really do not mind? I do not displease you.”

He tucked a finger under her chin, tipping her face up to his, “You never could, Bess, I like you any which way. Nothing changes that.” He slipped the robe from her shoulders. “But I like you best when we are together, alone.”


	11. Suspicion

“Are you sure it’s safe.” Elizabeth asked in a low voice, fingers curled about the reins of her dappled mare, the beast moving at nothing more than a slow trot. She did not want the others about them to hear of her insecurity.

Henry gave her a crooked grin, “You will be safe so long as you are with me,” He hesitated before adding, “and our household.” When this failed to erase the unease from her expression he continued with his reassurances. “Bess, I have taken every precaution to be sure that we are kept from harm’s way. I would never let anything happen to you, I could not live with myself otherwise.”

“I am just glad little Arthur is not with us.” They had left their son at Fordham with his staff under the guidance of Mistress Darcy. Moreover, Lady Margaret had decided to stay behind with the young prince for a time before returning to her own household. Elizabeth felt her son was in the best hands imaginable. Lady Margaret had taken to Arthur immediately, showing a keen, almost maternal, interest in the child. Elizabeth was surprised she felt more grateful than jealous that her child loved the woman so much, lavishing smiles and bubbly laughter on his grandmother like gifts.

While en route to Fordham Henry had informed her that they would be heading farther north after dropping off their son. The announcement had unnerved her. There had been unrest in the North, people there still bore a deep love for their previous king and seemed to want to see Henry unseated. Who these people rallied to as having a better claim to the throne was still a question Henry and his advisors could only speculate the answer to. While journeying into the belly of the beast seemed the most unpleasant course of action, even Elizabeth had to admit it was the only way. They had to show the North who their true king was. 

The terrain around them grew more rugged day by day. There was something about the wildness of the land out here that Elizabeth loved. The cold brooks that gushed over rocks laced with moss and lichen, the low trees whose knotted limbs had twisted in the wind, and the craggy hills that rose up about them like formidable giants, heather gracing the lower altitudes of these colossi. The autumn winds had whipped her cheeks and nose red, but her fur lined cloak kept her warm atop her mount. 

It was late fall and in the mornings a crisp layer of frost would spread over the ground and tree limbs, chasing the flora a crisp white. By midday, however, the frost would melt to leave the roads a morass of dead leaves and mud. The unpleasant conditions often led to prolonged stays in the homes of the lords and gentlemen who hosted them on their progress. While the progress itself proved not to be Elizabeth’s favorite activity, she did not complain. This was the first time her and Henry were able to spend much time at all together since their marriage. What with him charging off to this uprising or that, or simply whisking off on progress by himself that summer, the last time they had spent a real day together had been that spring at Easter. 

The result was, of course, that despite having borne him a child already, she felt she did not really know Henry. His mercurial nature combined with her own shyness had made it difficult, but she was determined to be more forward, for both their sakes. Her mind harkened back to her sister Cecily’s advice shortly after their wedding, that if their marriage was stable it would bode well for the kingdom too. She owed it to their subject to take measures to ensure her husband’s matrimonial satisfaction. And she would not do so begrudgingly.

The truth was, she had grown rather fond of Henry in the comparatively short time they had spent in one another’s company. He was always kind and gentle with her, sensitive to her needs and desires. Henry was always presenting her with thoughtful gifts or lovely compliments. And when they were apart he tended to write to her more often than was necessary or common. At first she had found his letters a touch annoying, short and mundane notes on scraps of paper scattered with handwriting made almost illegible by a combination of poor lighting and poor eyesight. But, with time, she treated them as a little window into his mind and was honored that he thought of her so often. Even when he had nothing to relate to her, he still wrote, perhaps to let her know that he missed her, though he would never say so.

“How much further?” She asked, the sun lay dangerously close to the slope of the hill to their west. If they were on the road much longer darkness would shroud the valley they traveled in. And then the beasts would descend from the hills to prey upon them under the cloak of night. Or at least, they would according to the story Henry had told her this morning as they had ridden out from their last post. 

“We cannot be too far, my Queen, I and my men would not dare submit you to the myriad dangers that lurk in the night.” That small, secret smile of his played on his lips before he called out, “How much further, my lord?”

Stanley shifted in his saddle to call back over his shoulder, “Just around this next bend, your grace, the home is just around this hill here,” he gestured, “and sits atop the next hill. Sir Henry Vernon shall be your host.” 

Henry turned to Elizabeth when Stanley rode on, “I have been assured that this home is in a most idyllic setting, and I think you shall find much pleasure in our stay here.”

“I am glad you should think so, but I hope our stay at this particular lodging was placed on the itinerary for some other reason than my pleasure.” 

“Would it matter if it was not?” Henry smirked, “Though I must confess, it was. It was chosen because I have been quite looking forward to making the acquaintance of this Sir Henry Vernon. The Vernons are an old family which have been much trusted by the king and the people in the past. He could prove to be a worthy ally as well as a future member of our household.”

As they rounded the next hill the home came into sight. It was an expansive stone structure sprawling atop its promontory, bare limbed trees were scattered sparsely over the ground that sloped down from the castle-like home to the wide, but shallow river below. “And what do they call this place?” Elizabeth asked, as she led her horse to the bridge.

“Haddon Hall.” Henry replied. 

The King and Queen received nothing but the warmest of welcomes from Sir Henry Vernon, a well-built man of middle age, gray streaking the dark hair he had scraped back from his weather beaten face. He was a country gentleman, doing his best to make his home both comfortable and presentable for his King. Elizabeth could see the great pains he had taken; the men and women of his household were clean and wore matching garb, a fire had been laid every room making the whole house relatively warm, and the carpets under foot looked rather new as well.

Though he referred to his home as nothing more than a humble abode, she was to discover that the gentleman had greatly misrepresented the residence. Elizabeth and Henry’s trek to the master’s chambers, which had been dedicated over to them during their stay, saw the royal couple through richly paneled corridors with periodic windows of leaded glass that overlooked the scenic and remote estate. The walls were lined with tapestries, the thread made dim with age, but the needlework careful and the subject matter ornately executed.

The master’s chambers were large and handsomely appointed. A fire roared bright orange in the stone hearth while a giant tester bed topped with a fat goose feather mattress and piled high with blankets and furs stood by. The hutch had been stocked with wine and spirits and rugs had been spread to cover almost all of the floor space. Supper, Sir Henry had assured them upon arrival, would be sent up to their room shortly.

“It’s a great old house.” Elizabeth said, moving aside the heavy brocade drapes that covered the windows to catch a glimpse of the gardens below. 

“Should you like to explore it tomorrow?” Henry asked, removing his leather gloves one finger at a time.

Already the brighter of the stars were piercing through the twilit sky, fighting the dim rays of light the sunken sun had left behind to take precedence in the heavens. The moon had taken her place in the east, her porcelain face round and full. “Only if you come with me.” There was a quietness in the room and she knew something was amiss. Turning to face her husband she found him silently preoccupying himself with his cloak. “Or… was there something else?”

“I take no joy in telling you, but,” He sighed, “I must meet with some of my advisors. There has been more news lately connected to the unrest in the North.”

She pulled away from the window and let the drapes fall shut, “I understand.” She said as she sat on the edge of the bed to unpin her hood. “Then I shall have to describe the grounds to you tomorrow night.”

“And be sure to find all of the best spots so you can take me to them later.”

“Of course.” She set the hood down atop her trunk and shook her hair loose. 

****

The sky was filled with gray clouds the sunlight could not permeate. It was a cold day, punctuated by the occasional cold and dreary drizzle. But Elizabeth was not to be deterred on her expedition about the grounds. The gardens were beautiful, but the Queen soon grew more inquisitive and longed to leave the walls that enclosed the grounds and house. 

“Fetch me a horse, good sir, I long to ride.” She said to one of the men who attended her as she plucked a bloom from a braid of ivy that roamed up the sheer incline of one of the walls of the home.

He bowed uncertainly, “But…” his voice wavered, “Are you not fatigued from yesterday’s long journey, your grace?”

A fair question, and truth be told she was still a little sore, but she was much more bored and curious than she was tired. “I am touched by your concern, but I assure you I am well rested.”

He nodded, “Sir Henry has made his son William available to you as a guide, your grace. Shall I alert him that his services are required?”

“Yes, please.”

A second serving man guided her to the stables to pick out a mount for the jaunt, her own horse well exhausted from the long haul of the previous day. Sir Henry had expressly stated that all his home had to offer was at her and the King’s disposal. Horses included. 

The stalls were full of strong, healthy horses with shiny coats and stomping hooves, ready for a roam about the moors. Elizabeth walked the length of the stables, inspecting each horse in turn, stroking their long forelocks or letting them nibble a bit of feed from the flat of her hand. She loved animals, which was hardly a secret. Henry had promised to establish a menagerie for her and she had a nagging feeling he would be presenting her with a puppy for her birthday in February. Or at least, he had better after all the less than subtle hints she had been dropping.

“Oh, you don’t want that old nag.” A strong voice called out, and Elizabeth turned to find a boy on the verge of manhood striding toward her briskly, a quick smile plastered on his face. He bore such a likeness to his father, Elizabeth could easily conclude he was Sir Henry’s son William Vernon. “Your grace.” He added, bowing when he was closer.

“Do I not?” She asked.

“Glenna has more years in her than her body may betray, I’m afraid she is prone to stumbling. And that is not a risk you want to take out on the moors. If I may…” He pivoted to gesture to another stall, “Triton here is fine horse, sturdy and dependable. He knows these lands well, and would make a fine mount for a Queen.” Elizabeth nodded her thanks as William sent a man to get the horse’s tack. 

When Elizabeth, her attending men, and William were all in their saddles the small group set off. The land just beyond the house, she thought, was not so harsh. But the further afield they ambled Elizabeth saw how rugged the land could be, with cliffs and escarpments here and there. The roads became paths, and the paths became fraught with stones and boulders. William navigated their little party to some of the most idealic locations and told them the tales that accompanied the lands they explored. How a given cliff had been hewn by a giant, or how the cave beneath it harbored trolls. How a witch’s curse could be heard in the wind on a certain peak, or how fairies had found a refuge in a knotted old tree trunk.

Everything was fascinating to Elizabeth, and she had rather lost track of time until the sky transformed into a bath of pinks and purples, oranges and blues. They reigned their horses in and made for Haddon Hall at a brisk canter, chasing the fading edge of the day’s light all the way back to the home perched on the hill.

Once back in her rooms, nose red and joints stiff from the cold, Elizabeth requested a bath be drawn. The thought of a hot soak after a frigid late autumn day on the moors was too delicious for Elizabeth to deny herself the small luxury. The bath was arranged for her with appropriate haste and the few ladies who had accompanied her on progress helped her from her gown.

Standing in her shift before the tub, steam rising in whips to dancing in the blue light of twilight, the Queen dismissed her ladies. She could bathe alone well enough. Once the door had closed behind her ladies Elizabeth removed her shift and submerged herself in the piping hot tub. The scent of lavender on the steam hinted that oils had been added to the water, and the effects were a welcome reprieve for her stiff and sore body. She tipped her head back to rest on the lip of the tub, letting her eyelids flutter shut. The warmth and scent of lavender together made for a heady combination.

“Well, you are a sight for weary eyes.” 

His voice, like honey dripping from the comb, smooth and slow, pulled her from her lethargy. “Is that right?” She retorted just above a whisper, eyes still shut. It was Henry, of course.

Footfalls became ever so slightly louder as he approached, then there was the sound of fabric rustling as he sat on the stool beside the tub. “Oh, indeed.”

“I missed your company today. I hope you were productive.”

“Very, I feel we are close to finding whoever is at the center of these plots and uprisings.” His fingers dipped in the water before tracing over her collar. “But, let us not speak of duty and business.”  
Elizabeth opened her eyes sleepily, “Yes, not just now. Maybe later.”

“Did you enjoy your day? I heard you took a tour of the surrounding countryside.” His eyes were locked on her face without wandering. Always a gentlemen, that one.

“Yes, the area is beautiful and there was so much to see. I’ll take you one day while we are here. But for now,” She motioned to the trunk that stood open just behind him, “would you mind handing me my robe.”

He collected the robe easily, holding it just out of her reach, “I do not know if I should give it to you, Bess. I think I quite like you the way you are.” There was a flash of a mischievous smile as he dangled the garment.

She shook her head in exasperation but could not help the grin that found its way to her lips. “Henry, please!” 

“And how shall I be repaid for this favor?”

“A hundred kisses.”

“Make it a thousand.”

Elizabeth sat back in the water, “You drive a hard bargain, sir. I do not have a thousand to spare.”

“The pleasure of your company at supper, then?”

She nodded and held her hand out expectantly, “Of course.”

Once she had made herself decent, or at least more decent, supper was brought up to their room. Elizabeth sat down to the meal in her long-sleeved shift with a deep blue wool robe over top, and sheep skin slippers on her feet. Their supper consisted of a hearty beef stew, followed by leg of lamb and peas. Wolfishly hungry after her long day, Elizabeth refused to let her instincts rule her and scarf down her supper. Instead she ate daintily, like a Queen. 

“What of this progress you have made with these rebels?” Elizabeth asked as dipped her spoon in her stew.

“We are very close to discovering who is at the center. I have my suspicions, of course, as to who it is. But I dare not speak the name and brand him traitor just yet.” Seeing the question in his wife’s eyes, Henry continued. “My men are fiercely loyal and dog-tired of these Northern uprisings, I fear they would capture the man before we had gathered sufficient proof against him. If it turns out I am wrong as to his identity, I do not want to have the mar on my reputation and reign of having captured an innocent.”

“So you would allow this unrest to continue until you are sure of the man? Henry, do not let things get out of hand. This man seems always to slip from your grasp. Eventually someone will have to be arrested for the crime, take this man and it will send a signal to the others of what they can expect for their actions.”

“I cannot do that.” Henry sipped his wine, “It would be a sign of weakness, capturing the wrong man. The traitors will think that I can be easily toyed with.”

He was careful, and that was what she liked about him. “Then kill the rebels in the field, extinguish them and their cause.”

“I can only silence them. Slaughter of the rebels is but the kindling for a larger fire of hatred. Hatred of the common people directed at me. I cannot kill their countrymen – our countrymen. Some follow blindly and do not know what they do.” He rubbed the stubble that shadowed the hollows of his cheeks, “They serve their liege lords, and believe the lies that are spread about me. They do not know any better.”

Elizabeth set down her spoon, “No matter what the thought process or supposed reasoning, these men have raised arms against their King and sovereign. That is treason, an offense punishable by death!”

“I will not have mass killings.” Henry pounded his fist on the arm of his chair, and Elizabeth suspected she had pushed him too far. She also suspected that he had had this same argument with his advisors, and maybe even himself, already.

She softened and reached across the small trestle table to place her hand on his forearm resting beside his trencher. “Henry, you are a better King than most know or deserve.” 

His shoulders dropped and the tense muscle in his jaw relaxed. He moved to take her hands in his, “And you are a better wife than I deserve.” A small sigh escaped his lips and he looked away towards to tapestry that hung on the wall, unseeing. “For so many reasons.”

“Oh, now do not say that.” Elizabeth gave his hand a squeeze before reclaiming hers so she could eat properly.

“You have the patience of a saint, Bess.” Henry said, his attention returning to the food before him. “Now, tell me about all of the lovely things you saw today.”

Gladly Elizabeth related to her husband the surrounding landscape and all of the treasures this wild land held. She described to him wide rivers, waterfalls that splashed over treacherous cliffs, still pools of cool, crystalline water. Of the glades, glens, and gullies she told him some. Then there was the way the heather clung to windy hilltops, and the vast landscape laid bare before one as they took to that hilltop. She tried to tell it all as Henry would have relayed it to her, the same attention to the minutiae, while giving a perfect idea of the greater surroundings. It had to be conceded that she was not as fair a story teller, but she tried her best.

After dinner Henry announced that he had many letters to write, and records to check. “Not tonight, Henry.” She sighed, seated on the edge of the bed with her lute, fingers idly strumming. 

“There is much to be done.” He said rooting about, looking for some paper she was sure.

Elizabeth said nothing, bending her head to focus on what she was playing. She couldn’t help but feel a little sad. She had rather hoped that they could continue spending the evening together alone without work or duty taking precedence. 

“Or…” Henry said and she looked up as he seemed to give up his search, “It could wait till tomorrow.” A smile crept to her lips and she returned to her music as Henry came to sit by her. “I’ve never heard you play before. You are quite talented.”

“Oh, no, I am afraid I have no great talent for music.” She denied it with a small measure of embarrassment, “It does not come naturally and took much difficult instruction, I can assure you.”

Henry laughed, “You are much too modest.”

“Fine, I am a prodigious talent, the finest lute player in the whole kingdom.” She declared playfully, “Should you like that better?”

“Well, I think you are the best.” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek, lingering there a moment as she played on, his breath warm on her neck. It was high praise from a man who loved music so much, but she was sure there was more to the compliment than that. “How shall we spend our time together wife?” He asked, his hand on her knee.

“Oh I can think of one or two ways to pass the time together.” Elizabeth said, the response washed in a wicked humor that was unmistakable.

“Oh, I think I take your meaning, Bess.” Henry said taking the instrument from her to set it down.

****

“Your grace?” A voice called out urgently from beyond the bed hangings.

Elizabeth rubbed the sleep from her eyes, “Henry?” She asked groggily. Opening her eyes she found Henry sleeping on his chest, cheek pressed to the pillow he hugged. “Henry, you are wanted.” She whispered.

“Do not say anything, maybe they will go away.” It wasn’t like her husband to crave sleep so. But then, she supposed, they had stayed up rather late.

“Your grace, I do hate to bother you.” The voice called out again, “But there is a messenger down in the hall for you.”

“Take his message.” Henry called back, voice somewhat muffled by the downy pillow.

“You grace, he insists on speaking to you. He is sent from your Uncle.”

“I thought Jasper was here?” Elizabeth whispered.

Henry rubbed his eyes and sat up, “He set off yesterday to look into the matter we were discussing at supper last night.” He said quietly as pulled back the brocade hangings. “I hardly expected word from him so soon.”

“I would not have disturbed you, your grace, only, well, the man said he was to talk to you directly and that the matter was urgent.”

Henry pulled on his breeches, “You did well to come get me.” Henry said, sounding much more awake, dressing hastily before turning back to give Elizabeth, still in bed, a kiss. “Come meet me downstairs when you are made ready, dearest.” He said softly, before following the man from the room.

On the heels of his departure Elizabeth sprang from the bed noting instantly that it was just barely dawn, the sky just barely kissed by the sun’s first and weakest light. She dressed herself, as her ladies were not at hand yet at this early hour, in her simplest dress, a cream colored frock. Her hair was hastily arranged before she tugged on her hood, pinning it in place. In that moment she hated the ridiculous way women were made to dress, there were far too many fiddly bits that made dressing an arduous chore accomplished only when one had much time or many helpers. Forsaking any ornamentation or jewelry, Elizabeth fetched her wrap, throwing it about her shoulders as she broke from the room.

It was unseemly for a woman, a royal really, to run or even hasten anywhere. Elizabeth confined herself to a brisk walk. She had the feeling that the news was of the upmost importance and it was key to Elizabeth that she receive it from her husband and not from some servant. She wanted to be there for him. Although it was not her who would decide what to do with the news, she knew that she wanted to be there by Henry’s side. And, truth be told, she was more than a little curious about Jasper’s secret mission and the nature of the message.

She cursed the maze of corridors the home, the labyrinth nearly unnavigable. There were doors she could have sworn she had seen dozens of times, and rooms she had charged through several times over. When she finally found Henry in the long gallery she wasn’t surprised to see that the messenger had apparently departed and Henry’s advisors were just beginning to join him in the room.

“My wife.” Henry said, gesturing to Elizabeth. The men moved to bow their respects to their queen while parting to clear a path between the two royals. Elizabeth went to him, Henry taking her hand. She could tell by his countenance that they were not Henry and Bess or husband and wife, but King and Queen. They were putting on a show, a display. “You can be glad, for I know who is at the heart of all this mischief.” He said it loud and clear for the benefit of all present.

“I am glad, your grace.” She replied in a tone to match her husband’s. “And is it the rogue you suspected?”

“Indeed.” He smiled impishly, Elizabeth knew how well he liked being right. She also knew how well he liked everyone to know so. “I shall have us delivered from this menace.”

“Yes. But first,” Elizabeth turned to look Henry in the eye, her expression own holding a challenge, “Name the traitor.”

Then in a booming voice, so there could be no mistaking it, Henry pronounced, “My lord Lincoln.”


	12. The Chill Before the Storm

Elizabeth stood just outside of the doors that led into the house that had been her home for the past week. From her place just below the North-West tower she had a clear view down the verdant hill to the River Wye. Servants had spotted a large party riding in from the North not long ago and she knew in her gut that it was Henry, returning at long last from the latest spate of rebellion in the North.

A cool breeze ruffled through the trees, shuffling the flame colored leaves, and plucking some to ride away on the wind. The stone steps were littered with dry, yellow and brown leaves that cascaded down to the path below. In the sky a smattering of dark, heavy clouds promised rain, and soon.

On just the next hill and in between the trees she could make out men on horseback, their armor catching the light and their banners furling and waiving behind them as they rose. By now others from inside the home had come to stand with her, both the Haddon Hall household and her own progress household. 

When Henry had announced Lincoln was essentially the puppeteer of the fledgling Northern rebellion Sir Henry Vernon had been the first to offer up his own men and supplies to the King. It was a powerful gesture from a man who had formerly sworn allegiance to the York King, and secured his position in the Tudor King’s favor. With the addition of Sir Henry’s men to those the King already knew he could count on, Elizabeth was sure he had come at Lincoln with a force mighty enough to quell the uprising in an instant.

But even such certainty, when confronted with doubt, must fail. A part of her always worried that Henry would not come back to her. That the party would ride in, rag-tag with heads hung low, and her husband missing. The fear, she knew from her mother’s experience, would never be extinguished. Her whole life had been a question of would her family return to her. She thought she had found stability, even if only for the briefest of moments, when she had married the King. But she couldn’t lie to herself, a part of her had known that the road would not be easy with one who was considered an outsider sitting the throne.

The party rode through to the clearing on the banks of the river opposite the home. Her eyes searched their number. Henry was always easy to pick out in a crowd, and not just due to his golden crown. He was head and shoulders taller than every other man, and usually the most interesting to watch. Everything about him commanded the attention of those who surrounded him. And so Elizabeth was able to breathe easy when she spotted him. He lifted his eyes toward the house and she could have sworn he looked right at her before breaking into a canter for the bridge across the river.

Flanked by his closest men, the King rode to the steps, swinging down from his saddle energetically once a boy had grabbed the bridle of his horse. He climbed the stone stairs with ease. From his demeanor and the flash in his eye Elizabeth could tell he was disappointed, but not alarmed. Her husband strode to her, kissing her hand before briefly pressing his lips to hers. 

“I promised a safe realm,” He said for all to hear, “and I have delivered. The rebels have been subdued.”

If the tidings were so glad, why did Henry seem perturbed? Elizabeth knew that she would have to wait for her answer, if something was bothering him she would have a hard enough time wringing it from him in private. However, the news had seemed to raise the spirits of those gathered considerably, for they could not read the subtleties of Henry’s expressions as well as she could. 

Henry led her within, leaving his men behind to answer the household’s questions about what, exactly, had happened. “So you managed to suppress the rebels?” Elizabeth asked, when he offered her his arm. 

“For now.” He said stiffly.

“And Lincoln?” She ventured.

His lips drew into a taught line, and his eyes closed in exasperation. “I shall tell you later.” Though it was no answer at all, it was answer enough for her to hazard a guess at what it was that kept him from reveling in their apparent success. 

“Later?” 

“Yes.” He stopped as they entered the lower courtyard. “I have a meeting with my advisors in the gallery. I shall come find you after.” 

It was all Elizabeth could do to maintain the smile on her face, if even done so poorly. “Of course.” She said shakily.

He leaned in to kiss her cheek in a simple but sweet gesture. 

When Henry had strode away, Elizabeth felt lost. She had thought he would want to spend time with her upon returning, but she could see that there were more pressing matters deserving of a King’s time. And she could respect that. Such had always been her life, people flitting in and out of it at a whim like a bird on the wing. 

Looking heavenward, Elizabeth supposed she could fit in a turn about the gardens before the rain came. Even though it had grown to become positively frigid these days, she would have rather been out in the cold than cooped up inside. The changing of the seasons from autumn to winter had affected the gardens, dulled their brilliance. Gone were the vivid blooms and lush flora, replaced by bare limbs and half withered shrubs. In fact, the whole landscape about the home was rather bleak.

The past week or so had set an ache in her chest. Not a physical pain, but a pain of the heart. She would have said she missed home, but she did not even know what home was for her. There had never been one place that she had thought of as her true home. Not any one castle, or palace, or house. Not even London itself, the place where she had spent almost all of her life. There was a feeling that something was missing from her, but she was not entirely sure what it was. The closest she could come to understanding what was amiss was admitting to herself that she felt quite lonely.

Her mother had warned her that he duties of a Queen and their life often came with feelings of isolation, seclusion, even in the midst of a crowd. Elizabeth had not understood or even believed her mother until she felt the loneliness herself.

From the far eastern and southern facing walls of the upper gardens Elizabeth could survey her surroundings. She could watch the storm clouds roll in, like grey ghosts of dragons in a fog, darkening the sky with their rain laden bellies. Far off, she could see rain already dropping onto a remote hillside. It was only a matter of minutes until Haddon Hall would be swept under the same veil. She stayed watching until the clouds loomed over the next hillside, and then she made for the house with haste.

She managed to cheat the storm, if only by moments, the downpour beginning just after she stepped within. Inside she was approached by a servant as she made her way to her rooms. “I beg your pardon, your grace, but a message arrived for you.” The girl dipped into a low curtsey and offered the sealed note to her Queen.

The seal pressed into the oxblood wax which insured the integrity of the message looked familiar. Very familiar. Elizabeth slipped the letter into the pouch at her waist and thanked the servant before continuing on her way. As was her custom, she would not read the message until she was alone.

“Your grace?” Another voice interrupted her thoughts and she spun on her heel to find another serving girl already in a deep curtsy.

“Yes?”

“Sir Henry has arranged for a small family supper party in the hall, shall you be joining?” The moon faced young woman asked.

Although she was not in the mood for it, Elizabeth acquiesced. People would gossip if she declined, furthermore, her host may take it as a personal slight. She returned to her rooms and hastily changed into a marginally nicer gown, fastening the cross necklace Henry had given her almost a year ago about her neck. As she finished her toilette and made for the parlor she thought about how much her life had changed in such a short span of time.

She no longer lived with Lady Margaret, rather she was now married to Lady Margaret’s son, while the Lady lived, at present, with her grandson. A year ago Elizabeth had been a bastard with an uncertain future, and now she was a Queen with rather a different degree of certainty about her life. In such a short time Henry had gone from being a perfect stranger to the father of her child. It felt strange to have a husband and a son in such a short time. Not an unpleasant strangeness though, Arthur was her joy and Henry her rock.

In the banqueting hall she found Sir Henry, his wife Anne Talbot, and his boy William standing before one of the large windows, drinking wine in the waning light as a steady drizzle continued outside, wind thrashing at the latches of the window. The three made the obligatory and obsequious gestures as she entered. 

“Sir Henry, William, thank you for lending your support to your King.” She said with heart as a server brought her a cup of wine.

Sir Henry bowed his head, “Our household and family are loyal to the King, your grace, and were glad we could be of service to the King.”

Henry entered the wood paneled room and the small party sat to their meal. Despite the name the large room bore, the banqueting hall was more of an informal communal living space. The long banqueting table had been pushed up against one wall and a small table had been arranged before the oversized fireplace. Cushioned chairs had been set up near one of the massive windows, and a book rested on one of the small tables there. Over her past week there, Elizabeth had witnessed that this large hall was the most used room in the home, and she could often find Anne in here with a book, sewing, embroidery, or similar. 

As the venison was served the conversation naturally gravitated to the men’s latest exploits. 

“We were able to track the rebels to the North and finally trapped their number. Lincoln was just within arm’s reach.” Henry said, his arm outstretched, palm open and long fingers searching, a far off look on his face. In his mind he was clearly back on the field, in the skirmish.

“And then?” Elizabeth prompted.

Henry’s hand closed and withdrew. He shut his eyes with heavy, dark lids and a bitter smile flashed on his thin lips. “And then he was not.”

Elizabeth cocked her head to the side, tilting her chin and frowning as her brows knit over narrowed eyes.

“Lincoln escaped, your grace.” Sir Henry supplied in hushed tone. Clearly this had been the thorn in Henry’s side earlier, the one that had kept him from the joy of victory. It was just as Elizabeth had come to suspect

“How? Where to?”

Henry’s attention returned to his trencher full of food. “That is just the question, is it not?” 

“Do your men have any leads? You have men stationed all over the North, certainly you shall have report of him soon.” There was an unmistakable earnestness in her voice.

“I saw him fleeing the field, headed east. But that is hardly a lead.” Young William supplied rather drearily himself.

“Do not lose hope so quickly. Take heart, you shall hear of him yet, though it may take some time.” 

“As long as he escapes my grasp, he escapes my wrath, and continues to be a threat.” Henry countered.

“I have many friends here in the North, powerful friends.” Sir Henry said slowly, all eyes on him as he speared a hunk of venison on the tip of his knife. “I have a good rapport with the men in the region. I think I could, with ease, convince them to serve their King and withhold their friendship from this scoundrel.”

Henry rubbed the itchy stubble that dotted the hollows of his cheeks. “If you did that, there would no one to harbor him, save the churches.”

“He would have to either seek sanctuary or seek his fortune on the continent.” 

“Would you do such a thing for me, Sir Henry?”

“You grace,” replied their host with a rakish grin, “I would do anything for my king and kingdom.”

“Your loyalty is appreciated and shall not go unrewarded.” Henry said stoutly. “Hopefully our combined efforts shall ferret out this villain.”

With far less concern Sir Henry nodded, “I have every confidence it shall.”

“And now, let us speak of this no more.” Henry said, “We should enjoy the company of our families and this fine meal, and not mull over our latest fortunes.” 

Though the supper conversation changed, Elizabeth was little convinced that the events of the past week were not still haunting Henry’s mind. He participated only minimally and was quick to say his good evenings to their hosts just after supper, returning with his wife to their rooms.

Henry washed his face and hands in the basin before climbing into the high bed in his shirt and breeches. His face was drawn, and his appearance bespoke a man thoroughly exhausted. Reclining on the bed, propped up against the pillows he watched as Elizabeth stepped folded up her frock and stuffed it in a coffer, before stepping into the softest kid-skin slippers. 

She carefully removed the letter from her pouch before placing it into the coffer as well.

“What have you got there, dearest Bess?” Henry asked in a voice not a little horse.

“A letter.” She said, breaking the seal, “From your mother.”

He patted the bed beside him, “Come here with it.”

Obediently Elizabeth shuffled to the bed, and settled in next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder and holding out the sheaf of creased paper so they could both read the contents. “My eyes grow weary. Read it to me, Bess.”

“Of course.” She relayed to him the contents, which mainly concerned Arthur and his perfectly contented state and his impressive development into an independent child. Margaret wrote of the child in the greatest detail, in all probability knowing how his mother must long to know even the most mundane minutiae of her baby.

“Oh Henry, do say we can see him soon. I do miss my boy so.” Elizabeth said, blinking back tears as she folded up the missive.

Henry stroked her hair absent-mindedly, “Of course, dearest. We will have him brought to court when we return.”

Elizabeth’s only response was to tilt her chin up and meet his lips.

****

The cards fanned before her eyes in contrasting red and black held little promise of victory. Thank goodness the game had little to do with what one really held, but rather had a great deal more to do with how well one was able to bluff about the contents of their hand. While normally she hated lying, a little deception was harmless when it came to fun and games. Especially when it meant winning a bet.

“Two nines.” She said definitively, a tone that brokered no argument, and slipped a pair of cards face down onto the table.

Cecily hesitated, for a moment she seemed doubtful, but it passed and she drew a card from the stack. 

It was an intimate but sumptuous gathering, Henry had made sure of it. He had invited their closest friends and arranged for all of their favorite foods to be served and games to be played. It was, after all, Christmastime. It was necessary that the affair be small, the country had been wracked with not only unrest, but also the sweating sickness lately. A large celebration would have been seen by the public as rather crass.

But Elizabeth did not mind. She was happiest when surrounded by family and close friends. Though it was a small party, the King could not help incorporating a few indulgences, as well as some rather dazzling decorations and entertainment. Henry had even had Arthur fetched from Fordham to join them for a while, though the child had long since retired to his nursery. 

They had spent the morning in mass, and emerged to jointly hand out alms. After they spent time with Arthur in the nursery Henry’s Uncle Jasper and her Aunt Catherine joined them with their own baby Robert. Catherine and Elizabeth clucked over their sons together, seated on a fur on the floor by the fire, while the men sat at a nearby table and talked over some matters. It was then that Catherine admitted to Elizabeth she was finally happy. After years of marriage to a husband who could not care less about her, the marriage Henry had arranged for her to his uncle had turned out to be a blessing. It was not love, she said rather dismissively when Elizabeth hinted at the question, but he respected her, saw that she was comfortable, and provided for her all she could ever need or want. 

Seeing her aunt thus satisfied, Elizabeth reflected on her own state. Though times had been tough since they had returned from progress, Elizabeth was content that at least she and Henry were living in the same place. He dashed off to duty far less often these past two months, though he did spend quite a great deal of time with his advisors, envoys, council, and other rather important men. But she counted herself lucky that always tried to make time for her, even if it was simply slipping into her bed long after she had fallen asleep. 

For today, at long last, the King had declared that he would not entertain any business unless it were of the direst nature. While Elizabeth was quite pleased with the announcement, she did not doubt that if some rather less important matter were brought to him, Henry would most likely see to it anyhow.

The game wore on and Elizabeth was caught in quite a few bluffs, her Aunt Catherine eventually catching on to the Queen’s tell of biting her lower lip when she played false cards. She lost £2 5s, but not unhappily, for the night was a merciful break from the tumultuous court and state of the kingdom.

She stood and joined Henry where he sat on his chair under the cloth of state, lending an ear to John Dynham, his Lord High Treasurer. No doubt the two were talking numbers, accountings, and budgets, though the conversation changed to joyful Christmas tidings as she approached her seat beside her husband.

“A merry Christmas to you, Baron Dynham.” She said casually as she settled into her chair.

“God’s grace and bounty upon you and your family, your grace.” He said, all humility, bowing.

She nodded to him as Henry turned to her. “Should you like your gift now, Bess?” Henry said in a low voice as the lord left them.

She blushed, “My gift?” Oh how she always loved his gifts. No matter how large or small the present, it was consistently the product of abundant thoughtfulness.

Henry waived over a servant and whispered a few words before the boy dashed away no doubt on an errand to fetch the gift. He smiled at her, “I think you shall like it very much.”

“Give me a hint what it is.” She grinned.

There was a twist of his lip, it was plain he loved to dote on her. “I rather think you already know what it is. You have been begging me for it these past six months.”

“You are mistaken, sir,” she teased, “on the contrary, I have no idea what it could be.”

“Ah, then it shall be a surprise.” He stood, the servant having returned, and took the whicker hamper from the boy’s hands.

Elizabeth was confused, her gifts normally came in small inlaid boxes, velvet pouches, or rich coffers. A whicker hamper was most unusual. Henry laid the hamper in her lap, “For my queen.” He said, that wicked grin on his lips.

“How do I…” Her hands hovered over the basket.

“Just lift the...” He indicated the panel.

Grasping the edge of the panel she lifted the whicker lid and peered inside. There among a bed of straw and scraps of cloth was a tiny puppy, yawning wide.

“Oh Henry!” She exclaimed, lifting the small dog to cradle him. “Thank you! He is perfect!”

He took the basket from her lap, “Anything for you, dearest.” He said, watching her fondly as she set the dog down on her satin skirts and pet his head. “He is a greyhound, I ordered him from the finest breeder in the land. What shall you name him?”

She considered the small puppy as he sat on her knee unsteadily, before wobbling and tipping to one side, eventually rolling onto his back. “Apollo.” She said, stroking his smooth tummy. “After the god of music, poetry, archery, and healing. As you know I love those things best.”

Henry nodded his approval.

****

The moon waxed and waned in the night sky, and the winter melted into spring. But still the frost of unrest remained over the kingdom. Henry grew more and more anxious to root out Lincoln and those closest to him, as he viewed them as the catalyst of the current climate in England. Reports had come to him in late February that the disgraced lord had been found in the Low Countries, but the rogue remained ever elusive. Every time Henry felt the man was in his clutches as last, his hand closed around thin air.

The king had become almost a man possessed, so fixed was he on this cause. He spent hours with his counselors pouring over missives, reports, maps, and even the rumors that were delivered to him from his own court and those abroad. When he came to her in the evenings, he was bone weary and mentally exhausted. Often he wanted nothing more from her than for her to run her fingers through his hair and tell him of her day.

Always she omitted the parts of her day spent with Lady Margaret obsessing over the reports the King’s mother received almost daily from her own informants. Together they learned that Lincoln kept in his company an adolescent boy. A boy he claimed was the Earl of Warwick. Elizabeth had made sure that this particular report found its way to the king’s study. She had determined that he role was as support and confidante, not accomplice. She was his respite from the world, and she could not let him see her as entangled in the worries that haunted him during the day.

Henry had allowed Elizabeth to keep Arthur in the palace during the spring, rather than send the babe back to his household at Fordham. The child was Elizabeth’s joy and heart, and any time during her busy days she could sneak away she would spend in his nursery. Even if only to watch the rise and fall of his tiny chest as he slept.

After hearing mass, distributing alms, and hearing the complaints of a wealthy merchant during the morning, Elizabeth had requested her breakfast be sent to the nursery. Once there the nurses has moved to sit at the far end of the room, affording her some privacy with her child, but not complete privacy. A few of her ladies had accompanied her to the nursery, and found a window to sit before and sew. With Arthur on her knee, she shared her porridge with her child who clapped his chubby hands together in between spoonfuls. His remarkably bright red hair had grown longer, developing into loose ringlets, and the dove gray eyes he had been born with had shifted to a light blue color. His appearance was already striking, and often commented upon.

They moved down to the fur rug by the fire, where some of Arthur’s toys were scattered. Elizabeth set the baby down before settling down beside him. He sat independently and she moved his wooden blocks before him, painted in every color one could imagine. Slowly Arthur picked up each block, studying it meticulously before setting them one atop the other. 

Elizabeth thought the child so like his father; the same calm, quiet temper, the same careful consideration, the same lure to building. She watched as Arthur stacked the bocks without any hurry, his pace and care the perfect counterbalance to his clumsy baby fingers. 

“That’s a good boy.” She cooed approvingly and a toothless grin spread on the child’s face.

The blocks were three high, a stout wall that stretched in a semi-circle about him, when, so delighted with his own progress, Arthur giggled and kicked his legs and inadvertently toppled the whole thing down. The child stilled and his eyes widened, taking in the effect of his actions. At first Elizabeth thought him like to cry, but instead he rubbed his hands over his face in agitation and began anew.

Suddenly, the door behind her crashed open, thrown open with an audible force. Elizabeth whirled where she sat, instinctively blocking his child from the intruder. 

But it was no intruder. “A moment with my queen please.” Henry said, his voice strained and even a little out of breath. His cap was lost and his tangle of curls fell freely to his shoulders, he was dressed only in his doublet and breeches despite the cold that permeated the palace. What could account for this behavior, this appearance?

“Are we under attack? Are they marching on London?” She asked, once the nurses and ladies had evacuated through a side door and Henry had slammed closed the doors to the nursery.

“No, dearest, no. But something terrible is afoot.”

A lump rose in her throat. Would they ever truly be out of the woods? Her life, it seemed, was always subject to some catastrophe or horrible crisis. “What is it?”

Seeing he had clearly shaken her, Henry immediately came to kneel between her and Arthur on the floor, scooping up his son into his arms. “Lincoln has sailed to Ireland, he has taken that boy with him, the one he claims in Warwick. He has had the boy crowned in Dublin as the King of England.”

“It is only a matter of time before they make for London.” Elizabeth supplied morosely.

“Oh do not sound so defeated. We have not even engaged on the battlefield.”

“Yet.” She cast her eyes downward and hugged her arms to herself.  
He knew she was right. “We know they will make for London, and that is why I am having you, Arthur, and my mother removed.” He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “I will be sure that you, our family, are safe. At any and all costs. You mean the world to me.”

It was a sincere promise, she knew. There was no doubting now how he cared for her, for their family. She could see in his eyes the earnest concern. He spoke not of the safety of the kingdom, of their people. But of her safety, the safety of their child and his mother.

He loved her, most ardently. She could tell, though he had not spoken the words. Yet.

“What is your plan, Henry?”

“I will move you, Arthur, and Mother to Eltham. You will be safe there, it is a secure castle.”

“And what will you do?”

“I shall raise an army to meet this threat when he lands. I shall decimate his forces. I shall take this rebel and this pretender and make examples of them. And no man shall think to threaten me again.”


	13. Closing the Gap

“Things could be worse.”

The very suggestion heightened Elizabeth’s already present ire. “How could it possibly be worse?” She paced the long wall of the room, glancing out each window as she passed them in turn, as though anyone could suddenly emerge from the treeline, friend or foe alike. It was unlikely though, between the sentinels posted about the exterior of the castle, the guards in the wood, and the moat with its retractable bridge. The royal women and child were more heavily guarded than the crown jewels. 

“Well, first we could be in a far worse place than this castle. And second, Lincoln could have someone with him that has a legitimate claim.”

“Does not Lincoln have his own legitimate claim? He was my Uncle’s heir, after all.”

Margaret smirked. “If Richard had died a natural death, Lincoln would have succeeded to the throne, it is true. But since Richard was defeated in battle, his crown rightfully went to the victor. Lincoln’s claim died with Richard.” Reaching out, she clasped a hand on either of Elizabeth’s shoulders, stilling the younger woman’s wandering feet. “You have nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing?” Elizabeth leveled Margaret with a look, a challenge.

“Yes, Henry will go to battle, it is true. But Henry has many more men than Lincoln, and far more loyal. Lincoln only has a rag-tag force of Prussian mercenaries and few others. We have every advantage.”

“I pray the Lord takes him by storm in the crossing.” Elizabeth muttered, slipping from her mother in law’s grasp.

Margaret arched an eyebrow, “It will not do to pray for God’s wrath.” She admonished, crossing her arms under her breasts. “You should instead pray for God’s will, his just and perfect will. Pray that God should favor Henry in his cause.”

Elizabeth strode to a window, and rested against the stone archway that surrounded the glass. “Yes, of course, you are right.” She sighed. “Have you had any news from Kenilworth?” 

The older woman turned her back to Elizabeth to warm her fingers by the fire. “You mean from Henry?” She paused, “No. I would have shared any news with you directly, you need not inquire.” Elizabeth idly studied Margaret flexing her fingers, her hands outstretched above the flames a safe distance. The woman wrote a great many letters, lengthy ones at that, and complained often of a stiffness in her joints on cooler days. “Have you written to him?”

“Yes. But only a short note, a few simple lines letting him know we had arrived here and were quite comfortable and safe.”

“And does Henry normally respond with promptness?” Margaret inquired, back still turned.

“Yes.”

“You are hurt?” The authority of the tone masked the question as an imperative. 

Smoothing her hands over the stomach of her gown Elizabeth turned the question over in her mind. What was the appropriate response? Yes, she was a little hurt. Why did he not write her? But that was a girlish reaction, her initial gut reaction. Reason told her that he was busy, that he cared even though his answer was not forthcoming. “Not hurt, concerned.” She said quietly.

“For your position? For your child’s?”

Incredulous, Elizabeth shook her head, brows furrowed and nose wrinkled. “For my husband!” Who could possibly care for positions at a time like this?

Margaret finally turned to face her, “You care for him.” There was a triumphant gleam in her eye, some sort of satisfaction. 

Elizabeth was powerless to deny that it was true. Her eyes clouded with emotion, she did not doubt, betrayed that she did more than just care for him. The truth echoed through her mind, a soft chant that she had repressed, unwilling to admit to. But, she was a poor play actor, Margaret comprehended Elizabeth in an instant, most likely more fully than the woman comprehended herself. “Of course I do.” She crumpled to sit on the stone sill of the window. “Of course I do. No one has ever shown me as much kindness as he has. He has given me a life worth living.”

“He will not abandon you, now, dear.” Margaret came with noiseless steps to join her on the sill, taking the younger woman’s hands between her own, imparting some of their warmth. “Henry is a fighter, a born survivor. He will make his way back to you any way he can. Worry yourself not.” Her smile was sure and genuine. How could Margaret be so confident when times were so uncertain?

There was some small noise at the door, servants whispering in hushed tones. Elizabeth and Margaret turned, as one, to see what the secretive commotion was about. A folded missive was passed from hand to hand and Margaret stood, as if by instinct, folding her hands at her waist, in ready to receive the message. She shifted her weight to one foot, and thereby stood a little just in front of Elizabeth. Clearly she intended to intercept the letter, were it meant for the Queen.

It was one of the small things Margaret always seemed to do. It was not borne of jealousy or a lack of subordination to her Queen. Rather it seemed to be an instinct, an almost maternal instinct. Others may have minded, but Elizabeth did not, she knew Margaret bore a perfect and familial love for her, and so meant nothing by how she conducted herself occasionally.

The servant within the room, sensing she had better make haste with her business, snapped the door shut and advanced across the room, eyes on the floor in typical abject subservience. “A message addressed to your grace and my Lady the King’s Mother.” The willowy, tawny haired girl said, eyes never lifting as she sunk into a curtsy, hand outstretched with the folded note.

Margaret took the message from the girl, who excused herself before melting back into the generalities of the room, and looked over the angle of her shoulder down at Elizabeth who nodded permission. The wax seal broke easily under some slight pressure, and soon Margaret was unfolding the paper and smoothing out the deep creases. “It comes from Kenilworth.” She announced nearly breathless. Elizabeth stood suddenly to witness the message, using her height advantage over her mother in law to her benefit.

After a long and pregnant pause as both read, Margaret broke the silence, “Henry… he has… he has left Arthur in charge of the Kingdom indefinitely.” There was a halting note of disbelief lacing her words.

“What? Why? Why would he do that?” Elizabeth sputtered as her eyes continued to scan the message, which was decidedly not written by Henry’s hand. “What does it signify?”

Margaret, for once, seemed speechless. No justification, no advice, no explanation, not even a prayer. “This is not like Henry.” Was all she said, as she preoccupied herself with folding the parchment, her long fingers fiddling with the creases.

Had Henry been there in the room with them, Elizabeth could at least have read his countenance. She could have gained some knowledge, no matter how insignificant, from a twitch of his lip or a weary cast of his eye. As it was, she did not even have the small advantage of the letter being in his own hand. “I shall write to him.” She announced, false confidence surging through her. It concerned her to see Margaret, normally so sure and prideful, befuddled and nervous. 

Margaret took the letter to sit on a hard wood stool by the fire, Elizabeth’s pup Apollo at the older woman’s knee as she read the succinct lines over and over. 

After sending for the necessary tools for writing, Elizabeth sat down to her parchment. She took up the quill and dipped it in the ink, then… nothing. What would she write? She had not thought of that. Her mind quarreled with her heart, should she send him her blessing as a dutiful wife or beseech him to send for her immediately? How, even, should she address the letter? Dearest Husband, My Grace the King, Henry?

Sighing heavily she set down the quill and rubbed her weary eyes. Could nothing be easy or simple? She knew what she wanted, but asking for it or even hinting at it was almost entirely out of the question. But time, time was of the essence. With an abandon for ceremony she took up the quill again and, wetting it in the ink pot, wrote her unbidden reply.

_Dearest,_

_Please know that your letter has found us safe and comfortable, though at a moment’s notice we would forsake such safety and comfort to be at your side. We pray daily for your grace -- for your continued good health, the indefatigable fealty of your men, and God’s favor of your cause. Arthur shall be your dutiful servant, and through him the realm is secure. But, we long for the day you will return to your crown and title, and pray it shall be soon._

_I, in particular, think of you often and long for the day we are reunited. Pray send me news of your campaign so I may keep abreast of your situation._

_Your loyal servant and dearest wife,  
Elizabeth R._

It was not a regal sort of message, with hidden meanings and diplomatic phrasing, but it was from the heart, and it was what she wanted to say. Though it was not all she wished to say, she thought as she held a stump of crimson wax over a taper. The message folded, and the melted splattering of wax hardening rapidly, she stamped her signet ring into the viscous crimson stain. Before she could regret her tidings she sent the message off with a servant, and on its journey to her husband.

In the days that followed a number of the King’s advisors arrived at Eltham, prepared to helm the kingdom in the King’s absence, and under the guise of Arthur’s temporary regime. Of course such machinations were undoubted engineered by Henry and his men together, and so she welcomed them warmly into the castle.

The first to arrive was the Earl of Ormond, her Chamberlain, whom Elizabeth immediately summoned to her presence in the small gallery. Despite the crushing anxiety that weighed on her shoulders like a millstone, Elizabeth forced herself to draw up to her full height. She was a Queen, and should conduct herself as such. Ormond met her there in short order, the dust of the road still clung to his doublet and there were splatters of mud on his boots.

“Your grace.” He flourished a bow when he had neared her, and doffed his cap.

“My lord.” She nodded, and he hastily covered his bald head again with his felt cap.

“You will be wanting to know the current status of course.” He began, without waiting for her to ask. She was thankful that he was quick to address that which concerned her most deeply, even if he spoke out of turn.

“Of course,” She confirmed, overlooking the slight on ceremony.

“Lincoln is in Dublin with his pretender. He has with him some Prussian mercenaries supplied to him by way of his aunt in the Low Countries, no doubt. What is more, Francis Lovell has joined with him.”

“My uncle’s friend?” She stammered, “We had presumed he was dead. Died at Bosworth.” 

Ormond shook his head, his lips a taut line. “I am afraid he is very much alive. You should also know a few of the Irish lords are reported as having joined Lincoln. So far we know only Kildare and the Lord Chancellor, but it is expected there are more who have joined his cause.”

Elizabeth paced the floor, her stomach a knot of nerves that tugged and pinched. 

“He seems, from the reports we have, to be amassing a following there in Ireland. We expect him to set sail for England any day now.”

“How many men do the reports say he has?” She wrung her hands, but made a conscious effort to keep the worry from her face, adopting instead a stony expression.

“At the moment…” He looked toward the ceiling under bushy white eye brows, as if mentally shifting through messages he had received, “The best guess we have is that Lincoln is 5,000 men strong.”

5,000? For a man whose claim on the throne had lapsed, accompanied by a boy pretending to be an heir? She could not fathom how they had amassed any support at all, let alone 5,000 men. Despite the believability of it all, or lack thereof, there was another question which was more important. “And how many men does Henry have?”

“His count stands at about 10,000. And while it is a great deal many more men, I would caution you that strength is not always in numbers. His grace should know this better than most.” 

Of course, the allusion to Bosworth was not lost on Elizabeth, of all people. “Well, what do we do now?”

There was a doleful expression on Ormond’s friendly face. “Wait for Lincoln to arrive.”

“Wait? Just… that is all we can do, just wait?” She could cry for helplessness.

“A message for my lord the Earl of Ormond.” A servant announced and a messenger was permitted into the small gallery. 

The stocky adolescent approached and dropped to one knee, “Pardon the intrusion my grace, my lord” He kept his head bowed and offered up his message, “From Kenilworth.” 

The breath caught in Elizabeth’s throat. He opened the letter with a level of care Elizabeth would never have been able to manage in light of such circumstances, breaking the seal and primly unfolding the sheaf of paper. He read the contents of the letter for what seemed an absolute age, but she did not hurry him or pry.

Had the rebels landed already? Was Henry rushing to meet them? She pictured Henry seated high on his horse, shoving a helmet on over his mop of brown curls before unsheathing his sword with a primal war cry. It was not a visual she relished. 

“It is a message from the King himself.” Ormond said, cautiously refolding the letter on its creases. “He has sent for your grace, and his mother.”

If she was not very careful her emotions would spill over. She took a beat to compose herself before daring to speak. “And Prince Arthur?”

“Yes, the Prince as well, of course.” Ormond pocketed the note and managed a genial smile. “I shall accompany you.”

“This is better news than I could have hoped for.” She returned his smile with an almost reluctant one. “We shall depart at first light tomorrow. I am sure you are weary after your travels, please, do repair to your rooms and rest.”

“Gladly, your grace.”

When Ormond had left the room, and she had heard the last of his footfalls in the corridor outside she allowed the tears to come. She was to be joined once again with Henry. It was not for long that she allowed herself to cry, to full feel all that she had bottled up within herself, there was work to be done.

She stole from the gallery and up to the nursery, where she knew Margaret would be. And she was not disappointed, for there she found the woman sitting by the fire, dandling Arthur on her knee and telling him a Bible story.

****

It was a long day, and many had urged Elizabeth to stop for a night, but she was unwilling. Margaret understood that there was no possible way the Queen could be dissuaded from her plan to see her husband that very day. Even though she knew it was nothing short of foolishness to take on so long a journey in one day, Elizabeth simply lacked the patience to make it a two day journey.

They had rounded London, keeping to the outskirts as they moved North West from Eltham. Once they were out in the countryside Elizabeth moved from the carriage to a horse. She simply could not sit in the contraption, she had to feel like she was doing something, like she was an active part of something. 

They passed through villages and towns and Elizabeth would slow to a trot, smiling and waving to the people. She filled the long hours in the saddle with thoughts of the preparations for Arthur’s birthday celebration. He would be one year old in a few short months, which she found hard to believe. The time had flown by, first he was sitting, then he was crawling, then he was babbling, and soon he was attempting to stand. Every time she looked at him she was still in amazement that he was her son. Her’s and Henry’s. But she had told herself that she would not think of him today, that she would put him from her mind. She did not know why exactly she had forbidden herself to think on him, but she had. Some part of her, deep in the recess of her mind, had told her that it was for the best.

And so, she went on methodically planning out every detail of the banquet in her mind. All of the courses, and the dishes in each course, the entertainment, the guests, the seating arrangements, the decorations, the entire evening, everything. 

When she had finished with that she began thinking of to whom she could betroth Arthur. A princess from the continent would, of course, be best for the kingdom. France or Spain would be her first choice. King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella had a number of daughters, three of whom were close enough in age for her to consider them to be eligible. 

She followed the procession almost blindly, failing to take in her surroundings and loosing track of the time of day. So fervent was her concentration on distracting herself that she only came to when Ormond rode up beside her, “We are nearly there, your grace.” He said, “We have just entered Warwickshire.”

Elizabeth looked around herself. The sun was low on the horizon, casting out weak light that painted the sky a myriad of vibrant colors, more beautiful than any tapestry, even those purchased with the riches of a king. The landscape was vastly different than that she had woken to this morning at Eltham. Warwickshire was more verdant, somehow, perhaps it was the abundance of trees and brooks and rivers that she came upon. 

The rode through the trees for a time, then a great clearing was before them, and beyond that she could see reflected on the water of a mere, a great castle. Surely this was Kenilworth. The orange red tone of the sandstone walls was intensified by the red sky the sunken sun had left behind upon dipping below the gently rolling hills. The castle was massive, rising above the curtain wall on a mound to stand sentinel over the waters and lands that surrounded it. Tall walls set with elongated windows surveyed the countryside like so many eyes, watching, waiting, ready.

Elizabeth had never seen another castle to rival the massive bulwark that was Kenilworth.

“Send a man ahead to announce our arrival.” She commanded as she dug her heels into the flanks of her bay. With her destination there before her eyes it was all she could do to rein in her own desire to set free and gallop. The next twenty minutes on the approach to the castle passed as though days and weeks. She occupied herself with feigning interest in the surroundings. The mere its boats and water fowl, the hills that gently sloped up and away, the stands of trees.

And then, at long last, the great oak doors to the castle were in sight. It took a great deal of self-control for Elizabeth to calmly ride into the inner court yard, flanked by Ormond and a number of her guards. She was handed down from her horse with all the respect due a Queen, and immediately made her way to the carriage. 

“How was your journey?” She asked as Margaret handed out Arthur to her.

Margaret rubbed her back and stooped to climb out of the carriage, “I shall be glad to find my bed, and soon.” She said by way of reply.

“Arthur did not give you much trouble, I hope?” They were being moved along by their people inside and to one of the halls.  
“None, never. It was merely the jumping and rattling ride.” The older woman flashed a self-deprecating smile before saying, “Or maybe I am simply grown old.”

Arthur fussed a little in Elizabeth’s arms, tugging at her hood with his stubby baby fingers, lower lip trembling, “I can think of one not so old who seems to desire his bed as well.” She smoothed a palm over her son’s cheek kissed his brow, “Peace, you shall see papa soon.” She whispered to him as they passed inside.

“I was told you had come.” Elizabeth heard a familiar voice from just beside her and whirled to find Henry’s tall, slender frame descending a short flight of stone steps, having come from some room within. “Lady Mother.” He kissed her hand before moving on to his wife a little too quickly, “My fair Queen and right trusty prince.” 

He pressed his lips to Elizabeth’s cheek, then to Arthur’s brow. “It was very wrong of me not to send for you sooner.” He said, taking his mother’s hand to draw her in alongside Elizabeth, his eyes looked almost sorrowful, and the corner of his mouth turned down.

“Do not trouble yourself with such things, your grace.” Margaret patted his arm, “We know what weighs on your mind, and delight that we are able to be here with you now.”

“Mother, you seem positively fatigued.” He observed as she leaned on his arm. “Here,” Henry gestured to a man standing in a doorway, “Show my mother to her rooms. Make sure she lacks for nothing.”

Henry lifted Arthur from Elizabeth’s arms, easily bearing the growing boy’s weight. “And you, my wife, I should allow you to make for your apartments as well. I can see something of a wild and weary look in your eye.” 

A maid sidled up to Elizabeth a dropped into a curtsy, “Please allow me to be of service, your grace.” 

Elizabeth hesitated. She had ridden so far and so fast to see Henry, and now she was being sent off? Perhaps sensing this reason for his wife’s disquiet Henry announced that he would see the Prince well settled in his nursery before taking supper with the Queen in her chambers.

Once in her rooms, Elizabeth bid the maid help her from her gown. The damned garment had chaffed and restricted her in every way for the past eleven hours and she was glad to be rid of it. Besides, she was practically caked in the dirt, grime, and sweat that one always seemed to acquire whilst on the road. The heat and sun of late May had very nearly baked the mud on. The maid brought an ewer and basin to sit on the table by the window, and asked if her grace required anything else.

“No thank you. That shall be all.”

Finally alone, Elizabeth curled up on the chair in her shift and lazily cleaned her limbs, chest, neck and face with a washcloth, scrubbing her feet and hands until the dirt was truly gone. When she had unpinned her hair from a top her hair, and freed her curls from their plait, she took a brush to the red-toned golden ringlets. 

She reached out and undid the window latchings, letting the first of the night’s breezes dance into her rooms. Even if they were not together now, having the whole family under one roof had brought a much needed peace to the tempests that had tormented her mind and heart of late. Elizabeth folded her legs under her and sat sideways in the chair. Her arm propped top the ladder-back, she rested her cheek on her forearm and let the cool air wash over her face. She felt some solace, even if only fleeting and shallow, she felt it and it comforted her.

She heard a maid enter and leave a hefty tray of food and drink on the sideboard, before clearing the ewer and basin from the table. Elizabeth did not stir. Pressing her eyes shut she enjoyed the mild evening, her mind a blissful blank. Minutes passed, or perhaps hours. She did not stir until she heard the door open slowly, noisy on its old hinges, and the heavier footsteps of a man. At this time of the evening it could only be one person.

“I thought surely you would be resting in bed by now.” Henry said, “You looked like to collapse from fatigue earlier.”

Elizabeth leaned back into him when she felt his hands on her shoulders. “I knew if I went to the bed I would be asleep before you came for me.” She said.

“Well, I am here now. So,” He took her hand and helped her up from her chair, “Now you must go to bed.”

“Not without you.” She tugged him to her as she paced backward toward the bed.

“You have grown bold, Bess,” He said, letting her lead him on, “ordering your King about.” 

She reached up and toppled the cap from his head, “You asked me to join you here, I am simply ensuring that I do as I am bid, and remain joined with you.” 

That earned a laugh from Henry, something her ears had not had the pleasure of for quite some time. “You clever minx,” he chuckled under his breath. But the smile on his face looked odd, strained, faded. There was a darkness about the eyes. Her mind returned to the real reason she was there. The solace she had found earlier was shattered.

“I know you are burdened Henry.” Elizabeth sat on the bed, pulling on his hand to indicate he should join her.

He did. When his shoulders slackened and he sighed, Elizabeth knew that he had let his guard down, that she was addressing the real Henry, the Henry no one else ever saw. “I thought if I kept you, and mother, and Arthur away that I could… do this. Confront this threat, keep you out of harm’s way, hold on to the little headway I had made with this kingdom.” He tucked the hair that brushed his cheek behind one ear and continued, “the truth of it was I missed my boy, wondered daily if I had missed his first steps or words. I missed my mother, her shrewdness and her reminders of what the scriptures dictate.” A hand reached out, strong, slender fingers covering her own in her lap. “I missed you, your advice, your comfort, your listening ear.”

“I am here now, Henry.” She said, taking his hand in hers warmly. 

He lifted his eyes to hers, the grey like a storm over the sea one can see approaching the shore, “I shall not be much longer.”

The unspoken question lay there before them, the question Elizabeth knew she could not ask. The question she already knew the answer to. 

“Let us not dwell on tomorrow, we should make the most of the time we have together.” 

He lifted his hand to take her cheek, and as he pressed his lips to hers with abandon Elizabeth moved to sit in his lap, knees planted on the bed on either side of his hips. 

“A very good idea.” He said as she worked on the buttons on his green velvet doublet. Meanwhile, Henry was sweeping her cascade of flaming gold hair over one shoulder, his fingers tangling in her tresses, to plant tender kisses on her neck.

Soon his doublet was gone, followed by the shirt, which was discarded unceremoniously on the floor. And while she pressed him into the pillows, a hand on either of his shoulders, his eyes fixed on hers as she bent her head towards his and a murmur escaped his lips. “I love you.” It was the confession she had longed to hear, a confession she chased with kisses inspired by more passion than she had ever felt.


	14. Stoke

In the few days that followed the seasons changed rapidly. Summer had arrived, languid and unwelcome. As the heat increased rapidly, the moisture from the mere encouraged an almost unbearable level of humidity, which in turn fostered a local sensibility of lassitude. New daisies sprang to life in the untamed tall grass, where they swayed on tepid breezes and swam under a veil of pollen. Indolence captured the mood of the surrounding countryside, punctuated by the occasional dash of hooves on the duty roads. Messengers bearing news from the outside of the rapid progress the King made in his cause. 

There were no letters from the field. Nothing but impersonal dispatches hastily penned by some military aide. Elizabeth was surprised to find she had given up her post by the window overlooking the approach to Kenilworth, that she no longer dashed for the hall to meet each messenger, that she had stopped shuffling through missives looking for his uniquely ornate, cramped handwriting. Normally when her husband left to face rebels there was no distracting Elizabeth from anxiously worrying over him, no matter that it neither of them any good.

But this time was different. She was content to go about her day, attend mass, sit in on meetings, write letters to family, friends, and allies. It was a marked departure from her usual attitude, from her life-long habits. It occurred to her one day as she sat at the head of the giant oak table in the private gallery with Ormond and a number of other advisors, her plump son yawning and heavy-lidded on her lap, the reason why.

For some, maybe, it would not be enough to rely on. Really, it was nothing solid to cling to, nothing but a wisp, a feeling. Henry loved her and Arthur, and would do anything to return to his family. She could rest assured that with the declaration of his adoration, an oath more profound and resilient than a marital vow, he would come back to her. Alive. 

“What say you, your grace?” Ormond suddenly intoned, rousing her from the mire of her own thoughts.

She prevaricated and pretended to attend to Arthur, lolling lethargically with his crimson cheek pressed to her stomach, while the other councilors turned to face her. “I must apologize, I was simply…” The boy let out an agitated whimper when she accidentally roused him, and his eyebrows slanted worryingly over his watery eyes. It would not do to have their head of state burst into tears during such a meeting. As she cast about for some way to distract the child from the tears that were surely on the brink of spilling forth, Ormond calmly snatched a strawberry from the tray and thrust it into the boy’s hands with a grin. Content with this new thing, which he nearly immediately stuck in his mouth, the tantrum of the overtired baby seemed to be held at bay.

“I’m sorry, my lords, where were we?” Elizabeth sighed.

The Bishop of Winchester, Peter Courtenay, a beardless and beady-eye man in his mid-fifties, no doubt balding beneath his cap, adjusted the ties at the wrists of his sleeves as he responded “We were discussing the matter of the budget of this cause. The men at arms will be needing pay, some sort of compensation.”

“What has The King promised them?” She brushed her fingers through Arthur’s red-gold ringlets absentmindedly.

Courtenay hesitated. “The same that a King normally promises. Only…” His fidgeting increased, he had become almost completely engrossed in the sleeve-ties at his wrists.

“Only?” She prompted.

“More men have answered the call than we initially anticipated. The people have come out in large numbers to back the king. Certainly, we are grateful for the response, but the cost associated…”

Elizabeth cut in, “Is more than worth it.” 

“Are you certain, your grace?” The man finally looked up.

“This is the throne of the King we are defending, sir.” Elizabeth sat up straighter in her chair, “It is worth any cost. To cut down the rebels who dare to land their ships and walk our shores, who dare to crown a stranger as a false king and parade him, who dare to take up their arms against our rightful King… no price is too great. We are a great nation, and not to be trifled with.”

The corner of Ormond’s lip twitched and he let out a hearty “Here, here!” Which was taken up by several of the other men, who thumped their cups of ale on the table top in agreement.

She was worried what she had said savored rather too strongly of Henry’s own ascension to the crown, but the difference was her husband’s pedigree and the fact that God had seemingly sanctioned Henry’s reign by blessing them with a son. Of course, there was also the fact that the real Earl of Warwick, who the pretender claimed to be, had been a guest in the tower for well over a year.

The meeting was soon adjourned and Elizabeth returned Arthur to his nursery where he could find some much needed rest and respite. She herself turned to the chapel where she knew she could speak to both God and her mother in law, who, already a pious woman, had almost taken up residence in the holy house of late. As expected she found Margaret kneeling on the flagstone floor, head bent, eyes pressed shut, mouthing her prayers over and over. The queen silently thanked the Lord that his house was cooler than anywhere else in the castle on this particularly stifling day.

Tip-toeing across the cavernous chapel soft as a whisper, Elizabeth knelt at Margaret’s elbow so as to make her presence known without interrupting the Lady’s private pleading with the Lord. There were many in the chapel, all rather apart from one another, each in their own secluded reflection or repose. Margaret turned her face to Elizabeth without lifting her head when she heard the rustle of silks. “I trust the council meeting did not present you with any information we do not already have.”

“Henry has gathered more men to his forces, as we expected.” She responded. “There was some talk as to how this would affect the budget.”

“Of course. I trust you allowed the expenses?”

Elizabeth nodded. 

“I am sure you have heard Northumberland has been called away to York to deliver some aid in that quarter.”

Indeed she had, “Yes, apparently some of Lincoln’s men were harassing the good people there. As strong as I know the King’s forces are, I cannot help but feel unease that their number are now divided.”

“Then you would be interested to learn that I received a note this morning from my husband.” There was something of a twinkle in her eye, and Elizabeth found it necessary to urge her heart not to hope. “My stepson, Lord Strange, has taken up the banners and gathered the Stanley forces. I am told will meet the King tomorrow at Nottingham. I pray this increase in numbers will give us the advantage.”

She found it encouraging to hear that such a strong force would be joining the King. It had been the same force that had sealed Henry’s fate at Bosworth, coming to his aide in his hour of most dire need. “Praise the Lord.” She breathed, bowing her own head to meet her hands where they rest on the top of the kneeler. 

“I thought you would be happy to hear that.” Margaret managed a smile, her first in nearly weeks.

The fortunate news warmed her heart as she turned inward for silent prayer and contemplation. Battle was a gruesome and bloody business, one she rather shied from while others around her would gladly take up arms. But, Elizabeth knew, battle could be sanctioned by God. Surely protecting a King anointed by God to rule was a decent reason? After all, was not Henry’s reign sanctioned by God? The blessing of Arthur, a healthy heir, was proof enough for most. But if it really was God’s will, why did holding the throne prove to be threatened on every side, why were she and Henry beat back ceaselessly on almost every front?

“Shall we?” Margaret’s soft voice interrupted the queen’s theological reverie. Making the sign of the cross on her shoulders, chest, and brow Elizabeth stood to exit the chapel with the older woman.

****

It was a hot evening, and even though the windows had been flung open little could be done to alleviate the discomfort of enduring such heat in a heavy dress. Tonight Elizabeth was accompanied by two of her ladies, the others had been sent away early. From among her ladies, she enjoyed best the company of Lady Cecily and Lady Bedford, not only because they were family, but because they made her feel comfortable and secure. 

The sun had been chased from the sky, retreating to hide just beyond the horizon, his last fingers of light still touching the sky. The moon had taken up her station in the darkness, her harem of dancing stars there to adorn the inky heavens, like diamonds scattered across a field of deep blue velvet, winking and glittering.

Elizabeth admired the beauty of it all, the indescribable brilliance, as she sat at her writing table, quill in hand poised just above her parchment. She had begun with an aim to pen some verses likening the change from day to night with two lovers who only just pass one another doomed never to meet. But her skill had proved inadequate to see her through to her desires, and she had spent rather too much time gaping out the window.

Cecily and Katherine were occupied embroidering a tiny gown for the prince, a task they had been working at the whole week during the evenings. Katherine, of course, must be feeling something of what the queen herself was feeling. Lady Bedford’s husband, the ever trustworthy Jasper Tudor, was leading the King’s army along with John de Vere, Earl of Oxford. But she dared not broach the subject with her aunt, much as she knew it was her queenly duty to comfort the other woman. Elizabeth had simply grown weary of the subject. The idea of battle and imminent harm weighed like a millstone round her neck most hours of the day and night, though she was doing her best to not allow the fear to consume her. At the same time, she knew that shutting her eyes to it did not make the thing cease to exist. 

There was a sound at the door and Cecily stood to see what it was. “A message.” She said, when she had finished confronting the servant who had been let within. “From the Duke of Bedford.”

The bit of the gown she had been embroidering tumbled from Katherine’s fingers into her lap before she regained her composure.

Cecily brought it to her sister and then returned to sit by their aunt.

With measured breaths Elizabeth broke the seal and unfolded the letter. A message from the head of the king’s army surely bore words of great import. By the light of a flickering candle the queen read the contents, a whole range of emotions overtaking her.

“Lincoln crossed the Trent this morning.” She announced to the ladies, “The king’s army is headed north to Newark. They fully anticipate confronting the pretender’s army in the morning.”

She surveyed their faces, Cecily humble with her head bowed, Katherine her face still as porcelain but her eyes pits of worry. 

“Cecily, have the council called, I must share with them the contents of this letter at once.”

Her sister managed a quick curtsey and a distracted mumble of “Of course, your grace,” before she departed the room at a hasty clip.

In a moment Elizabeth had taken up her sister’s vacant seat, “Oh Katherine!” She took the other woman’s hand. “You must know, Jasper wrote that does not mean to command the vanguard. He sends you and your boy his best.” She pointed to the note scratched into the margin.

When she looked up from the letter, into Katherine’s face, there were tears glistening in her eyes, trailing silently down her cheeks. “He’s been so good to me. So good to our little boy. I cannot bear to lose him.”

“And you will not.” She did not feel the level of reassurance she emanated, but she had to try. “So long as he and the King are together, you will not lose him. The King would never allow any peril to befall the Duke, his most beloved uncle.” 

Katherine banished the tears from her cheeks with free hand, rubbing them away, “Ah, but Jasper can be so… impetuous. I can see him charging into the thick of it.”

“Yes, he can be impetuous. When it is prudent to be so. The Duke is also wise, and only takes calculated risks. Do not fret, my lady aunt.” She gave Katherine’s hand a squeeze. “Now dry your eyes, I need you to escort me to the gallery.”

****

The sense of certainty Elizabeth had felt only a matter of days ago had proved as fleeting as the morning dew. Sleep had not come easily to the queen that night, in fact she thought it would never come. Tangled in her bedclothes she tossed to and fro, evil thoughts plaguing her beleaguered mind. The line between wake and sleep had become blurred, and the night swirled together into a grand portrait of fearing and fretting, of languishing in the heat and waking in cold sweats. 

When dawn crept in with his golden halo to replace his mistress, Elizabeth gave up entirely on sleep to drag her weary frame from the bed. There was no point in tormenting herself, an idle mind is prone to clinging to one thought and spiraling down into the depths clutching it. 

To preoccupy herself, she dressed. It had been some time since she had last dressed without assistance, and the challenge was enough to distract her for a time. The many garments and laces and accessories. She dressed in a handsome red gown made from costly silk fabric and edged in gold ribbon, materials Henry had gifted her. After discovering her affinity for la mode, as he called it, combined with the somewhat depleted wardrobe she had harbored prior to their wedding, the King had found delight in periodically ordering her the finest materials. 

After dressing her hair and wiggling her feet into her slippers, Elizabeth headed for the gardens. Perhaps some exercise would clear her mind. It was a fine day, the oppressive heat of the day had yet to set it, and so she found her walk less arduous. She found herself quite alone in the gardens, aside from the occasional servant pretending to pay her no mind. It would be a lie to say that she did not think of the carnage and strife that was sure to occur that day. Anxious as she was to receive news of any kind, the queen knew that it would be many hours until any reports began reaching them, practically half a day, really. 

Later in the morning Lady Cecily, Lady Bedford, and the others of her ladies joined Elizabeth in the garden to attend mass with the queen. Upon leaving the chapel Cecily suggested they play a game on one of the lawns, but Elizabeth had demurred. She could not play while Englishmen, friend and foe alike, no doubt lost their lives. Lady Bedford sensibly recommended they spend their day in quiet devotion and contemplation. Finding no fault with the activity, they joined Lady Margaret in her rooms to take up their pious vigil. 

In the afternoon a maid was sent up to the room to bring Elizabeth down to the front hall, where she was greeted by a messenger. Covered in dust and dirt, and practically panting, the wiry adolescent doffed his cap and dropped to one knee just as he saw he sovereign enter the hall.

“Please fetch this man something to eat and drink.” Elizabeth quietly instructed the maid who had escorted her, as they joined Ormond and the Bishop of Winchester, Peter Courtenay, in the hall. “Have you news?” She asked as she advanced to stand before the kneeling messenger.

“Yes, your grace.” The boy remained kneeling, holding his felt cap in his grimy, chapped hands.

“You may stand.” 

Haltingly the boy stood, still unable to raise his eyes to hers. “The king’s army engaged with the rebels this morning, about the ninth hour, south of Newark near a village called Stoke.” He licked his lips and twisted the brim of his cap in his fingers. “The king had 12,000 men, and we estimate the rebels numbered 8,000. The Earl of Oxford was leading the vanguard. I was sent just after the fighting began and have nothing more I can report. I am to tell your grace that more messengers are to follow me.”

“I thank you for your message and your service.” Elizabeth said with far more outer composure than she truly felt on the inside. She had the boy taken to the kitchens for a hearty meal, while she was immediately flanked by Ormond and Courtenay. 

“Your grace, the numbers seem to favor the king.” Courtenay said dully.

“Numbers mean littler, dear Bishop.” 

“Yes, but with Oxford lending his expertise to the vanguard, and Stanley’s experienced men backing the king, perhaps we have a more sophisticated force.”

“Perhaps.” Elizabeth exited the hall with both men on her heels, “Now if you will excuse me, I will be returning to my prayers. You will be summoned when there is more news.”

And summoned they were, just a short hour later. 

The German mercenaries of the rebel army had apparently come equipped with firearms, which at first frightened Elizabeth. That is, until she was told they were difficult to reload, and that the king’s longbowmen proved more effective. Furthermore, she had been informed that the Irish were poorly equipped, and had come fighting in little to no armor, many sporting nothing more than a leather jerkin. 

A third messenger arrived shortly thereafter, reporting that the Yorkists had fled. The Lancastrians had given chase and trapped the rebel army in a ravine, where quick work was made of a large number of the Yorkists. Although the messenger had attempted delicacy in his phrasing, conscious of a queen’s sensibilities it seemed, there was no way to present the news in a pleasant way. 

A final messenger arrived, apparently riding ahead of the returning party. “Victory is ours! Praise be to the Lord!” 

Elizabeth’s heart fluttered and she felt almost faint with relief. 

The news was of a decisive triumph. Lincoln and most of his closest allies has been slain that day, only Francis Lovell had managed to escape. Once again the man had slipped through their fingers, apparently fording the Trent on horseback and disappearing on the far bank. They had taken the pretender boy alive. 

After sharing a toast with the prince’s council at Kenilworth, Elizabeth had retreated to the nursery to fetch her boy and take him to her rooms. There she dressed herself in her shift, let down her hair, and crawled into bed with Arthur. They would stay up and wait for Papa, for her Henry. She had read the Bible to her boy, who eventually fell asleep tucked in under her arm. Elizabeth soon followed her son into the land of dreams.

****

Was it still a dream? Was it all a dream? Had yesterday been real? Was this morning real?

Was this form that lay just on the other side of Arthur really there? “Henry?” Her sore voice almost caught in her throat at the effort to speak softly.

The form shifted and yawned as it rolled over. Indeed it was Henry. Rather unshaven and more than a little careworn, but her Henry just the same.

“Have you been here all night?”

“I came in the middle of the night, but I did not want to wake you or Arthur.” His attention shifted from her to their son between them.

Elizabeth stifled a yawn of her own, “We tried to stay up for you.”

“I could tell, you were still holding your Bible when I came in, and the candle there beside you was still lit.”

She looked at the table beside the bed, indeed her Bible lay there beside a short stub of tallow, swimming in the viscous remains of the night’s melted wax.

“I was quite worried for you.” She said slowly. 

This seemed to amuse Henry, whose lip crooked into a grin. “Were you indeed, dearest?”

“Yes, of course I was.” Her response was laced with just a touch of defensiveness.

“Oh, and why ‘of course’?”

“Well, because…” She twirled a lock of her strawberry blond hair about her forefinger, “Because there was something I should have told you… before you left.” Her heart had increased to beat double time.

Henry raised his eyebrows and smiled cheekily, inviting her to go on.

“Henry, I…” She lifted her eyes to look at him from under her lashes, laying there with his tousled curls and his sleepy grin, his eyes bright and expectant. “Henry, I love you.” 

The grin grew, and he leaned across to kiss her, tucking his finger under her chin. “I know you do, dearest.” He said, drawing back.

“You do? You did?” 

“I felt it the day I came and saw you with our son for the first time.” Henry stroked little Arthur’s cheek. “I knew then that I loved you.” He looked up to meet her eyes, “And that you loved me.”

****

The gate swung open to frame the King and Queen, standing together on the cobblestones before their people. The masses were held at bay by the posted guards in their impregnable armor. “Good people of London, I present to you the pretender, the boy who was said to be the Earl of Warwick.” The boy was brought forward by a jailor who stood just behind the boy. “He has confessed to me that his name is Lambert Simnel, that he is not of noble birth, and that his actions were forced upon him by others.” 

There was a great deal of booing and general sounds of discontent from the crowds assembled. “Now, good people!” He said, lifting both arms above his head to quiet the crowds. “Now, I bring you the real Earl of Warwick, the Queen’s own cousin.” The wide-eyed boy was brought forward by his guardian. Elizabeth nodded at him and the simple boy smiled back. Edward had never been a bright boy, and living within the confines of the Tower had only stagnated his already dull mind. 

“Queen Elizabeth, can you confirm that this boy is your kinsman?” Henry asked loud enough for all to hear.

Matching his husband’s volume, Elizabeth responded, “Yes, he is my Uncle Clarence’s boy, Edward Plantagenet, the Earl of Warwick.” 

The crowd roared their approval, clapping and jeering. Their affinity for her father seemed to translate to all his family, even in these days under a new king.

Henry turned his attention back to Simnel. “This boy’s mind was corrupted by the men who took his from his family. He was manipulated. He was told to act a certain way and he was told what to say. The boy did not act of his own volition.” He placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, the very portrait of benevolence. “I have decided to pardon Lambert Simnel, and have given him a position in my kitchens.”

At first the people were quiet, then there was some head nodding, a few even took up the call of “Good King Henry!” The people were not as enthused about the victory as she, and she would venture to guess Henry as well, had expected. They respected their king, but there was still a palpable undercurrent of unease and disquiet in the city. And the temperament of the city so often reflected the temperament of the kingdom on the whole.

Later that night as Elizabeth lounged on her stomach her sheepskin rug before the fire, Apollo curled up beside her, she glanced over to see Henry still bent over the table, scribbling in the margins of the accounting books. 

“What have you got there, dearest?”

He distractedly drew the feather end of his quill over his chin as he contemplated the numbers. “Oh, the usual.”

She rolled onto her side and peeped at her husband over the pages of her devotional. “Henry?”

He tore his eyes away from the page to look down at her, “Yes, Bess?”

“Did not you think that… well, the people of the city today…” She trailed off, perhaps she spoke out of turn.

He sat back in his chair, a movement that let her know she was the sole object of his attention. “Go on.”

“I may be wrong, but did not you think that the people did not seem happy? We are safe now, but they did not seem happy.”

Henry nodded, “You are entirely correct, I had thought the same thing.” He set down his quill. “They are safe, but they expect a king to provide them with that. They need an occasion to bring them joy.”

Elizabeth nodded, contemplating what he had said. 

“Sweet Bess, I think it is time you were crowned.”


	15. The Dynasty Secure

The days passed in a flurry of activity. Arthur’s first birthday was celebrated with a small affair attended only by the royal family and their closest friends. Meanwhile, Henry took every spare moment he could find to plan Elizabeth’s coronation, which he had solemnly vowed would be the most sumptuous event to date in modern England. At first Elizabeth had supposed her husband was being silly, as he was wont to be from time to time, but upon chancing upon the relevant papers on his desk one night she discovered he was nothing but serious.

The accounting books showed purchases of vast quantities of rich fabrics, colossal orders of food and drink, scores of performers and extra serving hands, and all the other things that went along with an event of this magnitude.

A part of her worried that Henry was making the occasion too rich, but she knew it was for the best. A grand coronation was just the thing to raise the public’s spirits as well as reinforce their faith in the monarchy. Furthermore, the effect of parading the Yorkist Queen through the streets after a distinctly Lancastrian victory was not lost on Elizabeth. Even after almost two years, the people did not seem to trust their King by right of conquest.

It was not until her final fitting for her new gowns and robes that the gravity of the event finally hit her. She was being crowned Queen of England. It did not change her title or her rank, her social status or her power, but it did have its own kind of meaning. Recognition.

Her mother, as well as others of her family and the public, had quietly but firmly campaigned for her coronation. Without a proper coronation they worried that Henry disrespected his wife and intended to exclude her from his reign. Nothing could be further from the truth, but they, of course, were not privy to the truth.

November grew cold and the days whittled down quickly until her things were packed up and sent to The Tower ahead of her coronation. As was tradition, she would spend the night prior in the old castle in the royal lodgings. She had never much liked The Tower, but she was not one to shirk duty and snub tradition, so she made no protests.

“So, you will meet me there tonight?” She checked with Henry as they strode down the lawn from Greenwich to the dock that jutted out into the Thames, her ladies, servants and other household members chattering amongst themselves as they accompanied the royal couple.

“Of course. Now tell me,” He gestured to the river, “what do you think of your barge?”

The barge emerged from behind the curtain of foliage that lined the riverbank. It was like nothing Elizabeth had seen ever before. She had expected nothing more than her normal pleasure barge which routinely ferried her to Westminster or the homes of various nobility in and around London. Her boat had been dressed up as a verdant and ferocious dragon, snarling with teeth bared. It was very much in keeping with Henry’s love of symbolism, especially personal and familial devices. 

“It’s lovely, dearest.” She mounted the dock, lifting the massive skirts of her gold cloth of gold and crimson silk gown, before nearing the barge. Her gown had been custom made for this, the day before her coronation. The seamstress, rather proud of her handiwork, had boldly claimed that half the court would be sporting gowns of the same design within a month.

“Oh, but you haven’t seen the best bit yet.” Harry had a giddy grin on his lips as he handed her into the boat, before following her. “See this rope?” He lightly grasped a length of gold shimmery rope within the serpentine neck of the dragon that rose above the prow of the boat. “Watch.”

Before he even pulled the rope Elizabeth guessed at just what the device was. Sure enough, a plume of fire burst forth from the beast’s mouth to the applause of those still on the shore. She could only wonder at how the builders had been able to contrive such a contraption.

“Enjoy your trip, Bess.” Henry said, bending to place a kiss on one cheek, caressing the other with his thumb.

“I shall see you tonight.”

Once the King had returned to the dock, the Queen’s ladies crowded into her barge and the others behind it, decorated in crimson ribbons, swaths of green and white bunting, and banners bearing even more symbolic devices. Her ladies had also received matching gowns for the occasion, crimson silk with gold trimming.

The typically sonorous ride down the Thames, with the gently rocking boat more often than not sweeping Elizabeth into a welcome sleep, was anything but typical today. The banks of river, flanked with a press of eager onlookers, were periodically graced with musicians playing happy tunes, or short pageants. These diversions made the trip much more enjoyable, as well as much longer. Elizabeth was glad she had been bundled up in a matching cloak and one of her ladies had been thoughtful enough to think to bring the Queen’s kid skin gloves for her, which Elizabeth had forgotten amid the excitement of getting ready that morning. 

When, at last, the barge crawled to a halt before The Tower, Elizabeth was hurried inside by her ladies and those waiting for her on dry land. Thankfully supper had already been prepared and was waiting for them in the hall. She enjoyed the meal with her ladies, who talked eagerly of the events of the next day. Cecily’s excitement for the coronation was only rivaled by her giddiness over her new gown. And Elizabeth could have sworn she had seen Lady Margaret dab a tear from her eye at one point, smiling and pink faced.

Midway through the meal she received word that the King had arrived, and her ladies shooed Elizabeth off to her quarters, giggling as they did so. Their gleeful cheeriness was contagious, and she felt her own spirits lifted considerably.

She discovered Henry in the royal apartments sitting on a bench at the foot of the grand tester bed, already tugging off his boots, doublet hanging open and hat discarded unceremoniously on a chair. “There you are.” She said, gliding into the room.

“I was not expecting you, until later. I thought perhaps you were still enjoying supper with your ladies.”

“I can enjoy time with them all I want tomorrow, you on the other hand…”

He grinned and tossed the boots aside, “Ah, do you fear you shall miss me tomorrow. I doubt it. Your head shall be so full of all the things happening around you. I have quite the coronation planned for you, you know. And the feast that follows shall be quite splendid in its own right.”

“It seems the people shall get their celebration after all.” She said, sitting at the dressing table to remove her jewels and hood.

Henry came to stand behind her, visible over her shoulder in the looking glass. “In a way this was done for the realm, I do concede it. But Bess, you have to know, it is all for you, it is your day and your’s alone.”

She lifted the hood from her head and set it on the table top. “I know, dearest.”

They whiled away the short hours before sleep as any husband and wife would, before cuddling down in the warm feather bed. She knew she should be tired, positively weary, in fact. But sleep would not come to Elizabeth. Pressing her eyes shut and counting as high as she could did nothing to help either. “Henry?” Elizabeth whispered weakly, at last.

“Mmm.” He rolled on to his side and tucked his bent arm under his pillow. Eyes still closed, it was clear he was more asleep than awake. “What is it?”

She stared up at the pleated silk roofing of the bed, fabric emanating from a dual colored rose emblem, their emblem. “I can’t sleep.” She murmured. 

“You’re nervous.” He slurred sleepily.

Maybe she was. Maybe she was excited about the next day. But there was something else. It had been so long since she had been in The Tower, and now that she was back within its walls, her mind could not help but resurrect all the gruesome details of her former life that related back to this cursed castle. Most prominent in her mind was the mysterious fate of her two small brothers, whose last location had been this very residence.

“Hold me.” Her voice was small, and she hardly knew what she was saying.

Obligingly Henry pulled her to him, her back to his chest, hugging her securely in his arms. His deep, sleeping breaths on the back of her neck, the rise and fall of his chest against her, eventually pacified her troubled mind and soothed her to sleep.

In the morning was awakened by Henry caressing her cheek, bent over the bed already dressed. “I must go now, my love. You will not see me, but I shall be there today, I promise.” He said as she stretched.

It was her ladies who came and eventually dragged her out of the feather bed to prod, poke, lace, feed, and attire her. In Lady Margaret’s absence and in the absence of her own mother, who had lately retired to Bermondsey Abbey just across the river, Cecily took charge of the household. She pulled out the new made white cloth of gold gown for the ladies to dress their queen in, before selecting the perfect jewels from Elizabeth’s collection to adorn her. Just before they left the rooms, Cecily brought forth the finishing touches, the ermine mantle decorated with gold thread and gold silk tassels and a jeweled circlet for Elizabeth to wear in her hair.

Outside the tower Elizabeth was handed into a litter by one of the guardsmen, and her ladies mounted their horses to ride about her in a swarm. Once they neared the gates of the castle a contingent of guards surrounded the women as a protective measure. It did not take long to see why. The streets were lined with people, and onlookers peeped from windows set above the path she rode. The residences and businesses that hedged in about the roads were decorated with scarlet bunting and the ever present white rose emblem and sunburst motif. 

As with the trip down the river the day before, there was entertainment along the procession route that diverted her and her throng from time to time. Children dressed as angles sang with heavenly voices here, while a troupe of players acted out a brief morality play there. 

The enthusiasm of the general public did not seem an affected air in the slightest. Studying the faces of the people Elizabeth found genuine happiness, and the celebration seemed as much for them as it was for her. They certainly saw it that way. Most were dressed in their finest and seemed eager as much to revel in the entertainment as they were to gawk at their queen. Everywhere people called out their blessings on her.

As the tightly knit procession group neared the abbey Elizabeth noticed a band of guards holding back the crows, restraining the people who pressed and called and hollered raucously. Their boisterous and aggressive excitement rather frightened her, as it mimicked all too closely the jeers and sneers of less honorable people she had seen before. Those who had wished her mother ill, in particular.

Those bearing her litter stepped quickly to the great doors of the abbey and she was helped down from her place as a spectacle to the cheers of those who frantically pushed against the guards and their halberds. With trepidation Elizabeth turned to face the masses, flashing a nervous grin as she waived, before she turned and entered Westminster Abbey. The ensuing kerfuffle outside was muffled by the tall doors which closed with finality behind her. Later she would be told how the people ripped the rich carpeting she had trod on to shreds, stealing scraps as keepsakes to remind them of their queen

As she passed into the nave, lit with the light of a thousand candles as well as the multicolored sunlight filtering into the abbey through the stained glass, she faced the chapel, phew upon phew filled with England’s finest society. The chapel itself had been decorated richly as well, with swags of crimson silk, dual colored rose emblems, and disks bearing a sunburst. As Elizabeth walked down the central aisle she cast her eyes about the crowd as discreetly as possible. A part of her was hoping to see her mother’s familiar face among the many gathered, as foolish as she knew the idea was. However there were a great many who watched reverently that Elizabeth did know. Then there was the comforting thought that Henry, Margaret, and Arthur were watching somewhere, hidden from sight.

Nearing the end of her journey, Elizabeth mounted the dais and knelt to be anointed with oil on her brow and chest. Her hand was taken and a gold band was slipped on to her finger before she was helped to her feet. Elizabeth had rehearsed the entire ceremony in her head over and over in the days leading up to this one. Lifting her skirts only as much as was strictly necessary, Elizabeth climbed to the high alter, facing the chair of Saint Edward.

The chair, two hundred years old, or so the stories went, stood before her magnificent, if a little careworn. The gold gilt had rubbed off in some places, colorful painted details faded off into unfinished wood. Four small gold lions supported the chair and its heavy load, the Stone of Destiny housed just under the seat. Elizabeth had heard of the lore that surrounded the Stone of Scone, as it was sometimes called. The stone had been taken from the vicious Scots to the north by her and her husband’s ancestor Edward I, as part of his spoils of war, depriving their uncouth neighbors of their coronation seat. 

Elizabeth did not prevaricate long, taking the ceremonial chair promptly. She looked past the nobles in the pews, looking at her almost awestruck. The gold orb and scepter of state were handed to Elizabeth and she inhaled sharply, knowing all too well what would come next. The bishop returned with a large gold crown, inlaid with all colors of jewels, catching the light that streamed in through the stained glass windows. The bishop paused as he held the crown out before himself for all, including Elizabeth, to see. The moment seemed suspended, the enormity of the event impressing upon not only herself, but the others there. And then he was carrying to crown to her, muttering in Latin to himself or maybe to her, as he placed the it upon her head.

“I present to you, people of England, Elizabeth, your undoubted queen.” The bishop announced in a booming voice. 

There was a rustle of fabric as the noblity knelt where they stood, in their finery, heads bowed. Elizabeth sat motionless in the chair, everyone seemed frozen in the lowest bows and curtseys she had ever seen. She wondered how many of the women, especially, managed it.

“Come, your grace.” The bishop motioned to the aisle, and Elizabeth blinked. Yes, of course, they would remain like this until she had left. Handing off the orb and scepter to a priest, Elizabeth advanced back down the aisle, an anointed queen. 

Her mind lingered on the infinite possibilities, choices, and decisions that had led her here, to this very moment in time. First, she had been born the daughter of a king. All through her childhood her mother had been careful to warn here that there was no certainty that she would ever become a queen. For a time she had been the Dauphine of France, but when King Louis XI had reneged on the promise the possibility of becoming the queen of France had shattered. And when her father had died and Uncle Richard had declared her a bastard she had lost her title of princess. There was no certainty that her betrothed, Henry Tudor, would ever take the throne, live through a battle, or indeed, make good on his word he was coming to England. And even when he had taken the throne, there was little to entice him to keep his promise to Elizabeth. It had been a tricky road to navigate, one marred by cliffs, ledges, thieves, and liars. But God, in his gracious will and infinite wisdom, had seen fit to more than just sustain her, but raise her station and so bless her.

At the end of the aisle Elizabeth took a moment to kneel and cross herself, silently thanking God and praising Him. It was not entirely her day, she realized, it was only through God that that she was able to accomplish all that she had.

Once out of the Abbey, Elizabeth found a moment to catch her breath with a few of her ladies upon reaching Westminster’s Great Hall. Cecily led her into a small chamber furnished with a bench, chairs and a table filled with pitchers and cups. “You need to catch your breath.” Cecily said, directing a few of the women to help the queen get comfortable while she poured a few drinks. Lady Catherine opened a window to let in a refreshing breeze.

Elizabeth nearly collapsed on the bench as Cecily approached with a cup of wine. “Do you want to take off the crown for a minute?”

“Yes,” She breathed, “it’s far heavier than I imagined.”

Her sister lifted it from her head and Elizabeth messaged her temple while taking a sip of the wine. She sighed to herself, and closed her eyes, letting the crisp autumn air wash over her flushed face. When she opened her eyes again she was surprised to see the other ladies in the room still standing, watching her. “Oh, do sit.” She had forgotten. “Will Lady Margaret be attending the feast?” She asked. It was impossible for Henry or Arthur to come, she knew that. But surely the King’s mother would.

“No, your grace.” Cecily settled in on the bench beside her sister. “No immediate member of the royal family will be in attendance. But there will be many there who are close to you.” She smiled warmly. “Oh, Elizabeth, it is like a dream. Could you ever have imagined, even only a few short years ago, that you would someday be queen of our kingdom?”

She thought she spied tears in Cecily’s eyes, they were certainly a little red. “Of course not, sister. God has blessed me, greatly.”

“Yes. He has given you a wonderful husband and a dear sweet boy.” Cecily sniffed quietly, her cheeks flushing. “I am sorry, I am simply so happy for you.”

Elizabeth clasped Cecily’s hands in her own. “Your time will come soon, dear sister. Believe me.” She whispered.

“Oh, but I did not mean to imply…” She looked rather surprised. “I only meant to congratulate you.”

“And I would like to thank you for your faithfulness over the years.” She kissed Cecily’s cheek, “See, you have not been overlooked.” And how could she be. Cecily was greatly admired at court, but even so, as sister to the queen she was untouchable and unattainable for most. Margaret had mentioned to her recently that maybe it was time Cecily was wed, and well.

“Your grace?” Lady Katherine Bedford said, gently interrupting, “they are ready.”

Cecily helped Elizabeth up, setting the crown back on her head before adjusting her royal robes for her. “There.” 

The women fluttered from the room in a flock of white cloth of gold gowns. Elizabeth, their queen, led the way to the Great Hall, where the doors parted and she was announced. Immediately the guests all dropped into curtseys and bows as she glided to the dais.

Taking the place of honor, the place normally reserved for her husband, she was soon joined by her grandmother Cecily Neville to her right and her aunt Katherine Bedford to her left, the Archbishop of Canterbury beside her. The large hall was filled with earls, dukes, duchesses, lords, ladies, knights, aldermen, merchants, and distinguished guests. Many faces were familiar, some more than others, naturally.

Glancing up she could see the lattice covered balcony where she was certain her husband and mother-in-law were watching the festivities. Course after course was served, each melting one into the other. Hours passed, endlessly, and Elizabeth kept reminding herself to savor the day. It was her day. Music was played between courses and the queen was serenaded with songs arranged specifically for the occasion. Everything was so rich and magnificent, even for Henry’s taste. 

Surely the message he intended to convey was not lost on those gathered, nor would it be forgotten in the messages sent abroad via dignitaries and ambassadors. England was a strong, wealthy, nation. A nation no longer torn by struggle and strife, but stable and gripped the steady hand its ruler. A nation with a beloved queen and monarchy. England, if it had not already, was about to come into its own with its relations on the continent.

****

Blessedly, she was spared the discomfort of spending another night in The Tower, and rather retired to her usual rooms in Westminster Palace. Elizabeth was woke in the morning by Lady Bedford shaking her shoulder, delicately. “His grace, the King is here to see you with the Prince.”

Sitting up as Katherine drew back the panels of heavy brocade that encircled the bed, Elizabeth raked her fingers through her tangled ringlets, hoping to perhaps improve her sleepy appearance marginally. 

“Look, Arthur, its Mama.” Henry said, carrying their son in his arms. It was easy to see their resemblance when the two were viewed in such close proximity to one another. Though still a babe, Arthur was certainly his father’s son, in every way. The same astute eyes, the same quiet and thoughtful manners, the same skeptical brow. In terms of physical appearance, Arthur shared almost every feature his father had. With any luck, Arthur would be as wise a ruler as both his father and his namesake one day.

“Mama has a crown, just like Papa now.” He set the child down on the bed, allowing him to crawl into his mother’s arms. He turned his warm gray eyes on his wife. “You were magnificent yesterday, my queen.”

“You arranged everything perfectly, dear.” Elizabeth said, hugging her son in her arms as Henry sat on the edge of the bed. “It was like a dream.” Arthur quietly amused himself with the folds of the coverlet, running his fingers over the rich cloth in a reverent, serious manner.

“Hmm, yes. But do not get too comfortable in that bed, dear Bess. You must be up. There are matters to attend to.” There was a teasing look to his eye.

“Are there, indeed?”

“Yes,” He continued, “Mass, Parliament, another banquet, another celebration.”

Elizabeth affected a pout, “But I am so tired, Henry.”

“You shall have your rest soon.” His lips curved in to a kind smile.

“Oh?”

“I have arranged to spend Christmastime at Sheen.” Ah, so this was his secret.

“Sheen?” She asked, “But it is so old and small.”

“Just so,” He stood, “We shall be quite uninterrupted there. God knows, we have earned a private getaway.”


	16. Solstice

The manor house was old and small, just as Elizabeth had said. Well, smaller than the homes she was used to. But great pains had been taken to make it more homey and quaint. Holly and evergreen boughs had been spun into wreaths and festooned every spare surface, great furs were brought in to lay over the beds, and delicious smells seemed to waft from the kitchens day and night. The intimacy of the small home gave the illusion of seclusion. Henry, Elizabeth, Arthur, and a few choice servants were the only ones to inhabit the home; while a reduced court had taken up temporary residence in homes and inns nearby, ready to serve the royal family at a moment’s notice.

They had fallen into a comfortable routine, within days of arriving, of breaking fast, hearing mass, spending a few hours attending their respective business, and then devoting their evenings to time together as a family. Given that Arthur had lately learned to walk, the early evenings were normally dedicated to either chasing the child all over the room or attempting to contain him to a space. Though energetic, his outbursts were usually short-lived, and Arthur was usually asleep by seven.

One fine afternoon found Henry and Elizabeth both on the floor of the sitting room before the fire. Little Arthur had fallen asleep on the fur rug between them, as Elizabeth attempted to teach Henry some basics on the lute, at his request. The task was more fraught than she anticipated. Though Henry had a dear love for music and a keen ear for quality, he did not possess any natural talent for playing or particular proclivity for the instrument. This frustrated the king to no end. 

Privately, Elizabeth found the whole scenario amusing from where she lay on the rug on her stomach. The ruler of a kingdom bent over a small wooden instrument furiously demanding of it why it did not make the sounds he wished. He glanced up from his failed objective to find Elizabeth with a secretive smile on her face. “What?” He asked, sighing and rolling his eyes. “You think me a poor sport, do you not?”

“I think…” she said, propping herself up on her elbows, “That you could use some exercise.”

“You say that to distract me.” He reluctantly set the lute down on the floor beside him.

Elizabeth shook her head, “It takes time to learn something new, especially a skill like playing an instrument. Perhaps we shall come back to it tomorrow?”

Henry stood and glanced out the window. “The weather does seem to be fine, I am sure some fresh air should do us both some good.”

“Shall we bring Arthur?” She asked, kneeling over the small boy, his mouth agape as he slept blissfully. He had grown tremendously of late, and quickly. Admiring his small from she thought fondly of the small indications her body have given her recently that maybe another was on the way.

Henry handed her up, “Let him the child sleep. Besides, I would quite like to go for a ride.”

Elizabeth sent for Arthur’s nurse before she and Henry donned their cloaks and ventured outside. 

It was a cold December day. Absolutely frigid, Elizabeth thought, pulling on her kidskin gloves as she followed Henry to the stables. Thankfully it was neither snowing nor raining, though the wind did have the scent of snow in it; that unmistakable cool crispness Elizabeth had known even as a child that hinted at snow. 

“We only have the one horse.” Henry said, snatching a leather bridle from a peg by the stable door.

Elizabeth looked about to find that indeed there really was only one horse. “Where is the stable boy?” She asked presently, finding that the place truly was deserted. “And why is their only one horse?”

“The boy had to take off, his ma needed him.” Henry fitted the bridle to the beast and led the tall bay from his stall. “Or at least that is what the serving man in the hall told me.” He handed off the reins to Elizabeth while he went to fetch a blanket. “As for the horses. Well, I had messages to send, things to send for, and so on.” He returned and smoothed the blanket over the horse’s back. “I take it you do not want to ride with me, close quarters and all.”

“Oh, not at all.” She protested.

Next came the saddle, which he threw easily over the great animal. Elizabeth had never really seen Henry engage in any kind of physical or lowly work, but he did not seem to mind the minor inconvenience as many great men would have. He took his time and completed each step with care before mounting. 

Elizabeth offered him the reins and he extended his hand to her again. Seeing her look of confusion he cocked his head to one side and said, “Come, I’ll swing you up.” He sat back in the saddle to make room for her as she took hold of his hand. In one fluid and surprisingly graceful movement he managed to swoop her up onto the horse to sit sideways in front of him.

Bracing herself with one hand on the saddle horn she brought the other around her husband for stability. “Comfortable?” He asked. She nodded and they set off at an easy pace to peruse the park. 

“So, this Christmastime shall be much quieter than our last, shall it not?” She began as they passed the home.

“Yes, quite.” He agreed.

“It being nearly the end of the year always makes me think.” She said, looking out over the horse’s head to survey the land spread out before them. “I like to reflect on the year that has passed.”

“Do not dwell on it, dearest.” Henry said, almost too low for her to hear.

She ignored his gloomy aside and plunged on. “We have had our highs and our lows, to be sure. But I think on the balance it was a good year.” Henry instantly tensed and she turned back to look at him. “Do you disagree?”

He licked his lips, heaved a sigh and looked off into the trees beside the path. “Yes, I do.”

“I know it was not an easy year, but we – you, I, the kingdom, our monarchy – are the stronger for it.” She readjusted herself so she was looking out at the path before them again. They were hedged in on one side by a line of trees that led out into a sparse forest, while the hill the manor home stood on rolled down in a verdant lawn on their other side, setting bare before them the lush parkland. “You ferreted out and defeated Lincoln, the pretender is under our control, I was crowned, our boy is healthy and strong, the crown is powerful and you are respected. What more could we ask for?”

Henry did not respond and Elizabeth did not press him. They swayed together on the horse’s back down the hill side, Elizabeth leaning against her husband’s chest to keep her seat on the slope. The soft rocking motion atop the horse only heightened the sensation of nausea Elizabeth had been dealing with frequently these past few weeks. The weak winter sun was dipping closer to horizon every moment. Theirs would not be a long outing. Thank goodness.

At length, Henry picked the conversation back up. “How do you manage to find the good in everything?” He asked, “Your unfailing optimism always astounds me.”

With a sheepish grin she admitted that it could be quite hard sometimes, “But we can either choose to despise roses for their thorns or rejoice for their blooms. It is all a matter of outlook, Henry.”

He slipped a hand about her waist comfortably. “I wish I had your gift of happiness.”

“You have the next best thing. You have me.” She strained upward to press a kiss to his jawline.

There was a teasing light in his eye as they entered the parkland and he instructed the horse to a trot. “Then, I hope your sunny disposition will prevent you from being too cross with me.”

Her brows creased above her azure eyes, conveying the confusion brought on by his words.

“I have invited both our mothers to spend Christmastime with us.” He looked out over her head as they reached a fork in the path.

Just when she thought she and Henry would finally have some time alone… well, what was there to do about it? At least she loved both women and did not mind their presence. Her mother, of course, she had not seen for some considerable time, certainly not since Arthur’s christening. “If I had known we were to expect company I would have savored our quiet hours together more diligently.” She remarked, not cross in the slightest. “But we did have a good few days together, did we not?”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, “We did.” He murmured.

****

The following evening saw the arrival of both great ladies. It had been long since she had seen them both together, and was surprised at how quickly they fell back into one another’s company. It was easy to forget that they had been confidential allies not so long ago, working together to promote Henry and his cause for the throne. At first there had been a cool greeting between them, but before long they were walking arm in arm speaking in hushed tones together, no doubt conspiring again.

They made a striking pair; the dowager queen was statuesque with long pin straight golden hair now showing silver and a baring made almost haughty from years presiding over an unruly court, while the king’s mother was diminutive with a childlike petiteness and possessed of a cool intelligent manner. 

On Christmas Eve the mothers joined Elizabeth in her private apartments for a supper. “Just us women.” Her mother had insisted. Since Henry seemed consumed with some new small scale crisis to do with tariffs it had been easy to acquiesce. She had ordered a festive and delicious spread to be served to them in an informal fashion.

“Do not you think, my lady the queen’s mother,” Elizabeth, the dowager said casually over her trencher of roast pork, “That little Arthur has grown quite big and strong.”

“Oh yes, absolutely.” Margaret replied, “And most well-mannered and clever as well.”

Elizabeth smiled her little boy was her greatest joy and hear his praises sung was a private delight. “We are quite proud of our little prince, we’ve been so blessed.” She pushed around the food on her plate and managed to choke down a few small bites, against the will of her nauseous stomach.

“Yes, very blessed.” Her mother agreed, then quickly added, “And do you have reason to believe you shall be blessed again soon?” 

Nearly choking on her mead, Elizabeth brought her napkin to her lips to cover her reaction. Of course it was expected of a queen that she have children. It was prudent, her mother had said, to have both an heir and a spare. As much as she knew the court and people in general publically speculated about her fertility and the possibility that she was pregnant, she had never expected her mother to bring up the subject so nonchalantly and openly. “No, my lady.” She replied at last.

“The poor prince must be quite lonesome by hisself without any little playmates.” The dowager queen said, and Elizabeth could sense that this was a conversation her mother and Henry’s had predestined for this evening. The looks that passed between the two women only served to confirm her suspicion.

“I always wished I could have given Henry a little bother to grow up with.” Margaret added. “They grow so fast, you know, and soon you long for another babe. It is some kind of a maternal instinct, I think.”

Elizabeth gulped at her mead. “Yes, well, we do want… that is, we know it is right to…” She sputtered, it was indelicate to speak of these sorts of things, and there was no appropriate manner of saying what she wanted to convey. “We would be glad to be blessed again, both for our own sakes and that of our kingdom.” Hastily she took another gulp of mead, as if it could drown the embarrassment she felt all too keenly. There was no reason to tell the mothers of her suspected pregnancy, besides, it was early days yet and any number of things could go awry. 

“We would all be glad of it.” Her mother reached out to pat her hand on the table top, seemingly sated for the time being with Elizabeth’s answer.

“Especially if all your children are as agreeable as Arthur.” Margaret said softly. “I do dote on him.”

It was true, Margaret was especially attached to the boy. In fact she had demanded to see him upon arrival only after the briefest of greetings with her own son and Elizabeth. Margaret had personally taken the position of overseeing the young Prince’s household. Elizabeth would have been irritated, but her mother-in-law did very few things should could disagree with and the responsibility gave her much happiness. In a way Elizabeth sympathized with Margaret, a woman who had scarce been given the chance to raise her own son while having no hopes of producing further children. Henry, she suspected, allowed his mother’s interference only because his wife did not complain. Though occasionally her husband would draw the line with his mother to keep her from overstepping her bounds. 

Maybe Elizabeth could keep any additional children to herself.

“If you ever need any advice on… wifely encouragements…” The dowager queen said, with particular pleasure, “You could always write to me and ask.”

Lady Margaret’s face turned white as a sheet with horror, clearly their planned discussion had taken an unexpected twist. Elizabeth’s own countenance took on a decidedly embarrassed flush. Her mother had always spoken freely and unguardedly with her family, especially her daughters, but this was a whole new level, even for her. “Thank you, lady mother, but such…” she floundered for a word, “such instruction is not required at present.”

The old queen arched a skeptical eyebrow, “Because you are with child?”

“No!” Must this uncomfortable conversation continue? Speaking of their intimacy with her mother and her husband’s mother was not something she relished. “Because I have reason to believe my husband finds me adequately pleasing.” She had wanted to mutter the confession, but knew that stating it definitively was the only way to prevent further discussion. “Let us speak of another matter.”

“Oh, I see I have upset you. I meant no such offense.” Her mother cooed, somewhat insincerely. 

“Let us speak of my sister Cecily.” It was a subject she had been meaning to touch on. “She is in great need of a husband, and us women have a duty to guide the king in this matter.”

“Oh, and I have thought of just the man for our dear Cecily.” Margaret announced, folding her hands in her lap and drawing herself to sit up proudly.

The dowager queen waved Margaret on as she sipped her wine.

“John de Welles, my own half bother.” She was proufoundly pleased with her suggestion, Elizabeth could tell from the smile that affected her countenance.   
Elizabeth Woodville’s eyebrows raised, no doubt surprised that the king’s mother would suggest further intermarriage of their families. “What sort of a man is he, my lady?”

“Of the finest sort. He was a part of Buckingham’s rebellion and lived with my son in exile for some years. He has always been faithful to family and crown. Lately he has inherited the barony of Welles, been made a viscount, and been knighted.”

“And why should my dear daughter marry him?” 

“Mama, Welles is a fine man. A most loyal man.” Elizabeth interjected. “The truth is, Cecily’s hand is much sought after at court. If we are not careful some ambitious sort will make an impression on her. You know how Cecily is. This is what is good for her and safe for the kingdom.”

She looked to Margaret for support. “I think of Cecily as fondly as I may a daughter of my own, if I had a daughter. I would not make evil designs upon her nor imprison her with a mean husband. I have thought much over whom she may marry and I believe Welles is her best option.”

The dowager queen considered this. “And how do we make the king see this?” Both women’s eyes turned to Elizabeth.

A mischievous smile came to her lips. “His grace would scarce deny me anything I desire. I shall be sure he comes to see it our way. And soon.”

****

It was not such a grand thing as her own wedding day had been, but it was a celebration beautiful in its own right. After Christmastime Elizabeth and Henry had made for London, and preparations were made for a simple wedding.

Simple it may have been, but Cecily had brought her own special touches to the day. She had decorated the small and sturdy chapel with bunches of white flowers and tall white tapers. She had dressed the pews with white soft colored fabric and ribbons. On the day of her wedding she wore her gown from Elizabeth’s, as it was her best and the queen helped arrange her sister’s hair under a handmade coronet of winter blossoms.

Nature had worked its own magic on the day, and just before they were to set off for the chapel a fluttering of snow began to fall. Elizabeth thought her sister was like to break out in tears from her excitement. 

Once in the chapel Cecily squeezed her sister’s hand and beamed at her before making her way to her intended. It was a private ceremony, attended by the king, queen, the king’s mother, and their own mother. Welles had only brought a few friends, having no family left to attend. Certainly it could not have been the wedding she had dreamed of, growing up as a princess. But her sister did not seem to mind the intimacy and relative obscurity of the ceremony. 

Cecily had only ever met her betrothed on a few brief occasions, and counted the man among her court acquaintances. The man they found in the chapel, waiting by the alter, was a handsome man some fifteen or twenty years older than her sister. Already, in his late thirties the good looks of his youth had been tempered by years of experience and action. Though his chestnut hair was already streaked grey at the temples, it only made him appear more distinguished, rather than elderly. 

In the years to come Cecily would count her wedding day as her happiest, and would claim to have taken an immediate liking to the Viscount.

But in the years to come Elizabeth would count the day as among her saddest. For in the night following the festivities and celebrations, her sweet babe was taken from her before its time. In the moment she had wept furiously, not from the pain her body endured, but for the life she would never get the opportunity to nurture. With the pain came a sense of shame, and she hid the ordeal from her husband, afraid the veil would be lifted and he would see her shortcomings and regret his choice of bride.

In her heart Elizabeth named the child Edward, and never failed to pray for his soul daily.


	17. Treat

It came with the rain that swept in from the ocean to pound on the hammerbeam roof, with the cracks of thunder in the night that jolted her from her sleep, with the flashes of lightening on the far banks of the Thames. It was spring, and it would not be a restive one. The only thing that could blossom in the driving, dismal rain, was rebellion. 

“Do not they understand,” One counselor pleaded loudly as a pack of nobles followed the king through the corridors of Westminster Palace to the Hall, “That without these funds we cannot support Brittany, our must trusted alley?”

“I dare say,” Interjected Knox with a reproachful glance at the noble, “These folks understand little but the hunger in their children’s bellies.”

Henry nodded silently to his wife as he passed her in the corridor, but he did not slow down or stop. She had seen little of him lately, ever since he had announced the tax.

But it was not all his fault. Ever since Christmas Elizabeth had been, well, distant from him. It was not that she avoided him or intentionally shut herself off from him. She felt guilt and shame after her miscarriage, and she did not feel worthy of his attention. Furthermore, a part of her had been wounded after the ordeal, a part of her mind. But since she had made up her mind not to tell him of the child, he could not console her. No one could, for no one knew.

Henry, for his part, seemed rather entangled with his latest crisis, or crises, as the case very well could have been. The age old war between England and France had enflamed again as of late, engulfing Brittany, as well. England had found itself in a natural alliance with Brittany against France, but the small duchy was short on funds. Henry had petitioned Parliament for money to send to the Bretons, which in turn meant a tax on the English. And increased or additional tax almost always spelled grumbling and trouble. 

Elizabeth watched her husband’s retreating back, the flock of noblemen trailing behind him like large shadow.

Once the corridor was clear she passed across and into the rooms of the king’s mother. Within she found Margaret resting in a chair, her feet propped up on a short stool and a book in her hands. “Ah, I was beginning to wonder if you had got lost.” Her eyes did not ever flick up from the pages of her devotional.

“I am not at all late.” Elizabeth smiled weakly as she glided across the room, the hem of her lavender colored gown sweeping the floor.

Margaret stood. “Do you have it?”

“The terms have never been written down, no.” Elizabeth leaned against the older woman’s writing table.

“Do you at least have a letter?” Margaret was coming around now to stand by her.

She shook her head, “As I said, terms have never been put on paper, they have only ever sent their man to negotiate. They do not deal with us directly.”

“Very sly.” Margaret said under her breath. “Well, what are the terms they have presented?”

Elizabeth crossed her arms under her breasts, speaking about this with her mother-in-law felt so wrong when she knew she should be having his discussion with her husband. But with his preoccupation with the rebellion in the north, this matter -- this weighty matter -- had been left almost entirely in her hands. Naturally she sought the historically steady advice and support of Henry’s mother. “The terms are much more in their favor, but we will not be at a complete disadvantage. We will get what we want and the kingdom will gain stability and repute on the continent in return.”

“Is the man still here for negotiations?”

“We meet with him tonight, and he will leave to return home tomorrow and present our terms to his masters.”

Margaret reached out a hand to rest on her daughter-in-law’s arm. “If you feel you are getting a good deal, why do you seem so sad, my child?”

“I’m fine.” She insisted, “I just need some fresh air and a brisk walk.”

Margaret withdrew he hand. “If you should like company, I offer my companionship.”

She stepped away from the table and carefully adjusted her hood. “Thank you, but I think I shall explore the gardens on my own. Maybe some other time.”

With a demure smile, and a slight nod, Margaret accepted the answer she had suspected she would receive. 

The gardens held no blooms, only sodden grass, muddy paths, gaping puddles and drooping greenery. Elizabeth had wrapped herself up in a thin felt cloak to keep the drizzle off. The hood pulled up over her head gave her the false sense of solitude, though she knew that she was not alone, that she had never been alone nor would she ever be. She was royal, she would always be watched. But alone in her hood, in her own world, Elizabeth was left to steep in her own thoughts.

As she trudged down the winding lanes and surveyed the ivy creeping over the surface of the stone walls that hedged in the garden, Elizabeth dwelt, in alternation, on the past and on the future. What had been, what would be, and what could have been. She had always been quiet and introspective, but of late she had almost fully withdrawn into herself, an unpleasant fact that she had become aware of. More than anything she wanted things to go back to how things were, but how could she do so with the guilt and shame that overwhelmed her?

She had preoccupied herself with the treaty, with the matchmaking, with the scholarship she patronized with Margaret. Elizabeth had thrown herself into every project that had crossed her path, but she had not jumped in wholeheartedly. 

“Your grace?”

Elizabeth was prized from her reverie by the voice that addressed her. Coming up alongside her was the familiar face of John de Vere, one of Henry’s greatest friends. “Oxford.” She nodded to him as she addressed him with his title.

“I do not intend to sound impertinent, but do not you think the weather has become rather unsuitable for a leisurely walk?” The man, twenty years her senior, gestured to the garden about them.

She had not realized, but the rain was absolutely chucking it down now and her cloak had become almost completely soaked through. The hem of her gown was marred with thick lashings of mud and her feet were rather wet in her shoes. “Ah, yes my lord. I suppose I had got rather carried away with my thoughts.”

A kind smile graced his lips. “Yes, you did appear rather preoccupied. It happens to us all from time to time.” Escorting her back inside, Oxford informed Elizabeth that the king was waiting for her in his apartments.

The queen thanked him, and returned to her rooms to change into her evening gown, a russet satin dress with ivory ribbon trim and an ivory hood. Draping a gold chain about her neck with a large amber that dangled just above the cut of her bodice, Elizabeth hurried to meet her husband.

Elizabeth was told by the guards at his doors that she was to be announced, which tipped her off that there was someone already within with Henry. She plastered the most genuine smile she could muster on her face and entered with the quiet grace expected of a queen.

“Come and join us, my queen.” Henry stood as she entered, and his visitor followed suit.

“Senior de Puebla.” She acknowledged the ambassador as he bowed obsequiously, doffing his cap and sweeping it to the floor with a flourish, a rather full cup of wine balanced in the other hand.

“Your grace.” He murmured. 

“Senior de Puebla was just regaling me with a store about traveling by donkey in a perilous mountain pass in Spain.” Henry related as he poured Elizabeth a cup of wine.

The queen sipped at her wine after it was passed to her, “Oh, do go on, sir.”

Roderigo de Puebla, only a few years older than the king himself, was a companion rich in worldly experiences and vivid stories, and possessed of a warmth that infected even the stoutest of hearts with affection for the ambassador. As he told of the narrow pass, of paths that zig zagged through mountains with perilous cliffs, of his aged and temperamental donkey, the light was extinguished from the world outside and the tapers about the room were silently lit by invisible serving boys. By the light of a flickering candle, Elizabeth and Henry were transported to a far off land they had never been to, if only for a few minutes.

“A truly heart-stopping tale.” Henry said, when the Spaniard had reached his conclusion. His wife nodded her agreement.

“Perhaps one day you shall come to Spain, and see our beautiful, but formidable mountains.” De Puebla drained his cup.

“I should very much like to, someday.” Henry said, setting his own cup down on the table. “But I doubt you are here to tell tales all evening.” 

Elizabeth mirrored his action and propped an arm up on the table.

De Puebla raised his eyebrows, but smiled. “No, I did not come for that purpose.” He sat back in his chair, rubbing his bearded chin. “As you know, I depart your kingdom tomorrow and make for Spain. My patrons will want to know where our negotiations stand.”

Henry pressed his eye closed, a sign Elizabeth knew meant he was deep in contemplation. “The marriage, of course, is key for us.”

“As is it for my patrons. They consider it the very cornerstone of this treaty, and count it as a great honor to marry their youngest princess to your son. The other terms though… that is what we must negotiate, as you know.”

“Yes, I do well know.” Henry agreed. “The matter of the war with France, though, that is important to the queen and king, is it not?”

“Yes, they will not cease with their attacks on the French until Roussillon and Cerdanya are recovered. We know how Guyenne is important to you, and will support your kingdom in your attempts to take back the province.”

“And we shall support Spain, in turn, until it recovers its land.”

A darkness came over the ambassador’s face. “However, once Roussillon and Cerdanya are captured, Spain is not inclined to prolong its stay in France. They will not risk losing what they have fought hard for.”

Henry’s brows furrowed and Elizabeth interjected the question she was sure was hot on both their minds, “Will Spain desert us if they recover those districts before we retake Guyenne?”

“Spain will not stay in France a moment longer than it must, once it has taken back its land it will withdraw its troops.” There was a certainty to de Puebla’s tone. A certainty which made Elizabeth believe it was a term the monarchs were not willing to negotiate.

Henry must have had the same feeling for he forged ahead, “What other terms are there to establish?”

“There is the matter of tariffs.”

Henry rubbed his cheek, he dearly loved his tariffs, Elizabeth knew that for a fact. “I can lower them to four percent.”

“Actually,” the ambassador reached for the decanter to pour another glass of wine for the queen, “My patrons had thought of eliminating the tariffs between our two kingdoms entirely.”

“Entirely?” The king looked quit aghast. 

“Yes, entirely.”

Clearly uncomfortable with the idea of losing a profit, Elizabeth could almost see the gears turning beyond the window of her husband’s eyes. “I would be willing to drop the tariff, if only the merchants had some limits on them.”

“Naturally,” de Puebla acquiesced, “And I am quite confident that can all be arranged, as it does not seem too far outside of the realm of things my patrons would consider.”

There was a long pause, in which Henry crossed his arms over his chest and pondered the wax dripping down the tapers on the table, while the ambassador picked at the spread of food arranged before them. Elizabeth played with the ring on her finger, a modest-sized, pear shaped yellow diamond. They were missing the obvious, she thought. Or maybe the ambassador was hoping the king had forgotten the price of the supposed cornerstone of the treaty.

With not a little pitter-patter of her own heart she piped up, “Then there is the matter of the young princess’ dowry, of course.”

Rubbing his beard, de Puebla announced, “I am prepared to offer a generous sum of 80,000 crowns.”

A grin tugged at the king’s lips as he met his wife’s eyes over the table. “We are prepared to accept the generous sum of 250,000 crowns.”

The ambassador’s eyes widened and he looked like to fall out of his chair. Elizabeth hid her amusement behind a feigned cough and a hand raised to her lips. This she had already discussed with her husband. If they were to be cajoled into a less than favorable deal, they would make the Spanish pay.

“250,000 crowns? Certainly you cannot be serious?”

Henry swept out his arms in a gesture of innocence, “We did not want to insult a princess of the royal blood, nor the honorable name of Trastámara by fixing a low price on her person.”

But the ambassador was not as susceptible to the wiles of a king as a man of, perhaps, nobler birth. “No, of course not. But you cannot take me, or my patrons, for fools. Such a high dowry will not do.”

“You speak plainly with me, sir, and so I shall deal with you in kind.” Henry said, “We all know that, with the match aside, this is something of an uneven handed treaty. England gets a princess, yes, but Spain owes the English nothing in the war against the French, and what is more, we will not be able to level tariffs on her merchants. We all know the worth of a princess’ dowry, yes?” He settled back in his chair, “Now what is the price for a lopsided treaty?”

De Puebla’s countenance had lost something of its former mirth. “Queen Elizabeth, may I beg of you the price of your own dowry, if it is not indelicate to inquire?”

“I would convey such a figure to you, sir,” Elizabeth nearly giggled, “But you must remember I was a princess at the time I married the king only through his own action. Not only was I without rank when he took the throne, but I was without fortune as well. Prior to his benevolence towards me, in restoring my titles, I was only a bastard. And so, you see, I owed the king an unpayable debt when he came to take my hand in marriage. Whatever dowry that could be levied against me at our marriage, I and my mother, would have been unable to pay.”

Turning a rather vibrant shade of red at the cheeks the ambassador made his apologies and sought the queen’s forgiveness. “We are of the opinion,” Elizabeth said after she had given him her pardon, “That the Princess Catalina will make a fine companion for our dear prince, in the coming years, and that the alliance their union embodies is priceless. Unfortunately, sir, we are forced to put a price on such things.”

“250,000 crowns though?” De Puebla asked softly.

Henry shot Elizabeth an approving look, before addressing the ambassador, “Do you have a counter-offer, sir?”

After much negotiating, several glasses of wine, and a nearly two hours the matters were settled. Eventually the king and queen had worked the Spaniard down to a price he begrudgingly admitted was reasonable, a somewhat hefty 200,000 crowns. 

When the ambassador had left the room, Elizabeth made to follow him out. “Dearest.” She heard he husband call and halted to look over her shoulder. “If you are not overtired, I would like the pleasure of your company.”

She slowly spun to face him, refusing to close the gaping distance between them. “I am afraid I do find myself rather exhausted, your grace, if you would permit me to retire.”

Henry seemed to falter for a moment, blinking in incomprehension, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes searching her’s for some explanation. “Of course,” he said after a protracted moment, “And sleep well, I pray your constitution is restored.”

Elizabeth managed a bittersweet smile before she exited. Hurrying through the corridors she made for her rooms nearby the king’s. She did not deserve Henry, tonight had done nothing but remind her of that. All that he had done for her, all that he continued to do… she could never repay him for his constant kindness. She had nothing to offer him in return. Not even an abundance of children. 

She slipped into her rooms and barred the door behind her. Too long. For far too long she had been strong. For far too long had she fashioned herself into a woman of stone, a statue of marble, unfeeling and passive. A gasping sob broke forth from her mouth and she pressed the palm of one hand to her chest as the tears spilled from her in a torrent. With unsteady steps she shuffled to collapse on her bed.

How long she lay there, Elizabeth did not know. At some point she had cried herself into a deep sleep. She pictured herself in a meadow, a carpet of green under her reclining form, the branches of trees tangling overhead with glimpses of azure sky among the foliage, the sounds of a bubbling spring was nearly drowned out by the laughing a giggling. Sitting up a little she could peek over the blossoming sea of flowers to find a pack of children dressed in white smiling, chasing, playing, each crowned in a halo of red-gold hair. Entranced she watched them frolic all over the meadow, dancing and singing and picking flowers. Instinctively, inexplicably, she knew they were her children. Her’s and Henry’s.

Pulling herself up to sit up fully she flung her arms wide and the children came gambling to rest in her embrace, piling into her lap and snuggling up against her. Among them she saw a boy, unmistakably Arthur, but older than he was now. Reaching out a hand to caress his cheek, he melted from her touch. As did the other children, as did the flowers, as did the grass. Everything melted away to nothingness.

Back in her bed, sprawled atop the cloth of gold bed clothes, the panels had never been pulled shut and she had never changed out of her gown from the night prior. Amber morning sunlight streamed in the tall windows to wash the room in its glow, motes dancing in the sunbeams that slanted through the panes.

Dragging herself from her bed she shed her dress to change into a fresh shift and stockings. Sitting at her dressing table she peered outside, the brisk morning breeze meeting her face like a cool kiss. She watched the people in the yard below, hobbling horses, passing in and out, transporting goods to the royal household. Beyond stood the abbey, with its soaring towers and elongated stained glass windows. She tried to make sense of the dream. Had it been a vision? Had it been the Lord showing his will to her? 

She had never been one to have divine experiences or hear prophecies. When other’s said they had heard the Lord calling them, she often nodded along while having no idea what it really meant. But this morning, a part of her felt that the Lord had heard her prayers and her lamenting, and that He was showing her what he had planned. That He was seeking to give her some comfort.

He time for reflection was short-lived, for her maids and ladies came bustling in to perfume, change, and arrange her. Clad in a gown of light blue-green trimmed in cream ribbon and neat rows of pearls, she was escorted to the chapel for mass, then afterward to the throne room, to be seated beside the king.

As Elizabeth traded in her hood for a circlet of silver and diamonds and pearls her husband turned to her. “Did you sleep well, dearest?”

“Yes, quite, thank you.” She replied, combing her fingers through her hair. “Did you, your grace.”

He looked away for a moment. “This matter in the north troubles, me, I cannot lie. But I slept much better than usual, knowing that there is a great likelihood King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella will accept out terms. Thank you for aiding me with that delicate matter, you were wonderful last night.”

There was a softness to his voice, a sweetness to what he said to her. Perhaps he sensed that she was hurting, certainly he knew she had not been herself for months, but he did not wish to pry. He was too good to her. 

“When all of this is done, when this rebellion has died down, I wish to visit our son.” He dream last night had made her long for her child. She had scarce seen him since Christmastime, thought it was partially her own fault, locking herself away from her family the way she had.

“A visit to Arthur, and the country, would do you much good, I am sure of it.” Henry agreed readily, “I will arrange for it in time.”

The doors to the throne room swung open, and the nobles poured in to line the walls, taking up their places to watch audience after audience. There were many familiar faces in the sea, a myriad of trusted advisors, suspicious figures, hangers-on, old blood, and social climbers. 

A messenger was announced and a weary adolescent entered, head bent and uncovered, a felt hat wrung in his hands. He walked into the royal presence, shoulders slumped, unsure of where and when to bow he chose to remain as humble as possible before sketching a low and unsteady bow some fifteen feet from the dais the thrones stood atop. 

“Have you news, boy?” Henry asked.

The adolescent twisted his cap violently in his hands, “Yes, your grace. I come from Yorkshire, riding hard a day and a night.”

Sitting up in his throne, Elizabeth watched as Henry crooked his finger and the boy advanced closer to the thrones. “What news do you bring?”

“Your grace’s men met the rebels to treat with them just outside of Leeds. The Earl of Northumberland was not well received well by the people and a skirmish broke out, your grace.” He swallowed, and his eyes darted to his sovereign, “The Earl was killed in scuffle. The rebels claim it was accidental, and beg your grace’s pardon.”

Henry pressed his eyes shut. He had lost a trusted noble from the North, a key to the success of his own reign. “Who sent you, boy?”

“Your grace’s men.”

“Then why do you bring the pleas of the rebels?”

The ruddy cheeks of the wiry boy reddened, “Your grace, begging you pardon, I just bring the messages I is told to bring.”

Henry sat back in his throne, eyes pressed shut again, nodding. “Of course, child, of course.” He looked across to Elizabeth for a brief moment. “Tell these rebels that I refuse to pardon them. Their actions, not just the murder of Northumberland, but their continued obstinacy against my command, shall be punished.”

Nodding hastily the boy began retreating from their presence, “Yes, your grace, thank you, your grace. I shall bring this message to them directly.” He bowed again as he walked backward to the door at the far end of the room.

“Next!” Henry called to the herald. Elizabeth could recognize in the curled fist of his hand in his lap, in the white knuckled grip, the king’s rising ire.


	18. Benefits

It was no small matter to anger a king. This was a lesson Henry intended to impart to the inhabitants of the north, sending Thomas, Earl of Surrey as their tutor at the head of an 8,000 man-strong rap on the knuckles. The question of making the grade was a question of obedience to their king and sovereign. 

At the same time, word had returned with de Puebla from Ferdinand and Isabella. Or at least, Elizabeth hoped that was why the Spanish ambassador had returned to their dazzling court at Westminster. She fully expected a counter-offer, some push-back on the suggested dowry of 200,000 crowns for the Princess. 

It was late March and Elizabeth felt in limbo. With the north up in arms and the Spanish leading them by the nose, she again felt their monarchy was a pawn for greater politics that were out of Henry’s control. 

Seated under the canopy of estate in the King’s receiving chamber, Elizabeth found she was the first to arrive. De Puebla had requested a private audience. If the news was favorable they could stage a public one later on, however if It were not, more negotiations would be necessary and a public audience was hardly the place for such a thing.

It had grown hotter, much hotter, recently. Consequently the room felt muggy and stale, with its barred windows. That, or the queen was feeling a little unwell again. She had had a touch of an uneasy stomach of late, and frequently found herself feeling just a little faint. This she had concealed from her husband, the last thing she intended to do was heap further worry onto his already heavy load.

“You there,” she called to a guard, “Please open a window or two, I would like a little fresh air.”

“Certainly, your grace.” The man propped his halberd against a wall and hastened to do her bidding.

Elizabeth leaned heavily against one arm of her wide, squat chair, smoothing one hand over her stomach. When she heard footsteps in the hall just behind her, Elizabeth was sure to sit up in her chair, masking her face again with the look of serenity she had learned to adopt years ago. “Your grace.” She move a little, as if to get up.

As expected, Henry gestured to her that she could remain seated, and she resumed her former position. “Shall you attend mid-day mass with me after this audience?” Elizabeth asked sotto voce, something about the still quiet of the room made her afraid to fill it with the sound of her own voice.

“Were it another day, I would happily escort you. But I fear I am already engaged this afternoon, so I am forced to leave you with your ladies.” Henry dropped into his chair, set a little higher than hers. She fairly thought he studied her from his peripheral vision before he added, “But I shall see you tonight.”

“Hmmm.” She nodded. He had not visited her rooms in some time, at least, he had not visited her bed. There had been the odd visit here and there, a quick supper, a hand of cards, an evening of private music and entertainment. Perhaps she had been right, that he had sensed her need for a little space, and had backed off. Though it was evident that his natural affection for her had not waned, as he always asked after her health and made genial conversation with her. He was allowing her to set the boundaries, she realized. 

Henry was watching her, she realized, and perhaps read her emotions as other than they were for he hastily amended his prior self-invitation, “So you can teach this wretched pupil how better to play the lute.”

It was all a pretext, she knew. He could have hired an instructor if he really wanted to learn to play the instrument. But it was not about the lessons at all, it was about something much more important. Not wanting to appear too cool or distant she reached out to place a hand on his forearm, resting on the arm of his chair above her. “I shall look forward to your visit.” Mustering one of her demure smiles she met his eyes, which warmed to hers.

The steward announced Ambassador de Puebla and the King and Queen’s attention snapped to the doors which parted to admit the Spaniard. 

It was with a certain spring in his step that de Puebla made his way across the hall to bow, with a dramatic flourish, before the monarchs. From his cocky demeanor Elizabeth had the sinking feeling that the Ambassador came with good news from Spain which would be unfavorable news for England. 

Henry allowed the man to stand before him silent for a moment, waiting for the King to address him, as a clerk scuttled into the room, bowed before the dais and handed up a missive to the king. “From Brittany, your grace.” The clerk spoke softly. Henry held the sheaf first far, then near to his eye, attempting to compensate for his poor vision, as the ribbons streaming from the seal in the bottom right corner fluttered to and fro.

“Interesting.” The King mused, studying the missive. “You can put this on my writing table.”

Elizabeth recognized the tableau as part of Henry’s carefully constructed façade, as part of the games he played with foreign nations and sometimes with his own nobles. Always the King was trying to emphasize the importance of himself and his reign, and so he made sure he was viewed by others accordingly.

Turning his attention back to the ambassador standing before them, cap in hand, Henry smiled warmly, “Ah, Senior de Puebla,” he greeted, holding out his hand so de Puebla could kiss his ring. “We are grateful that the Lord has delivered you back to our kingdom safe and sound.”

“Indeed, your grace, all thanks to the Almighty.” He agreed, backing away to a respectable distance.

“Tell us, how are your patrons, Queen Isabella and King Ferdinand?”

“Healthy and happy, but for the trouble with France.”

“Yes, well,” Henry smirked, “France does make trouble for us all.”

De Puebla returned the smirk with laughter before mirthfully continuing. “May I inquire after the wellbeing of your grace and your royal family?”

“We are well and content, thank you for asking.” He eyed Elizabeth.

She knew her role well for such situations as they presented themselves. “The Prince Arthur is healthy and strong. He progresses well in his household, under careful care and tutelage. How does the Princess Catarina?” 

“She does exceedingly well, your grace, though these days she prefers to be called ‘Princess Catherine’.” The ambassador smiled, “And someday hopes to be called the Princess of Wales.”

It was all Elizabeth could do to hide her enthusiasm, the hint was bold enough to make her hope that their negotiations had come through without a further counter from the Spanish monarchs. “We do hope that such a thing can be arranged.” She glanced to Henry who shared a quick look with her.

“You may then be very well pleased to hear the news which I bear.”

It was soon settled, and the preliminary treaty which de Puebla had arrived with, emblazoned with his king and queen’s signatures, would soon find the signatures of another royal pair inked upon it. Henry had the treaty sent to his rooms, where he would read it and decide whether it was a treaty they would agree too. But Elizabeth did not have a doubt in her mind that she would be etching her name on the parchment that very evening.

“From here forward, ambassador, the Queen shall be our agent for this royal union.” He gestured to Elizabeth and it was all she could do to keep the surprise from her face. “You will find our Queen is most enlightened about such matters and that she perfectly represents the will of our realm.” 

It was an honor, a recognition, which she had hardly expected. She and Henry had often mused over matches to be made and he had referred to her as a canny matchmaker more than once. But to recommend her to the position of negotiating the particulars of a royal marriage was a rare honor and a symbol of his trust in her. For a man as much his own master as Henry, she knew how loathe he was to relinquish even an iota of his power. Not as active a politician as her mother in law, to the extent that a woman could be one, she looked forward to her role eagerly.

For his part de Puebla looked not at all surprised. Perhaps it was because of the great power his own queen held. He merely bowed and expressed his satisfaction to treat with the Queen at her pleasure.

As Elizabeth made her way to mid-day mass, flanked by her gaggle of ladies in waiting, her mind kept wandering to the union. She had hoped for it for such a long while, but she now found that she had little idea of where to begin when it came to the negotiations. In her days as a maiden her father had contracted a few marriages for her, most notably to the dauphin of France, but she had not even the faintest idea of how the negotiations had proceeded, for she had been nothing more than a mere girl at the time.

On the other hand, her marriage to Henry, arranged when she was more of an age to understand, and which had been negotiated by their respective mothers, had been something of an extraordinary case. Furthermore, neither of them had been royalty at the time, not legally anyhow.

As she entered the chapel she did her best to rid her mind of thoughts of the marriage. Now was a time devoted to the Lord, and besides she had plenty of time to think on the other matter later.

The spring passed pleasantly enough, with de Puebla returning to Spain to receive further orders from his patrons for the negotiations. Elizabeth was glad to find that their reign remained undisturbed for a time, save for the grumblings to the North which had been dispatched with deftly. Just after Easter Henry had hosted garter ceremonies at Windsor and created his mother a Lady of the Garter, at which time Elizabeth’s sister Anne was invited to court. She stayed through Whitsunday and their mother came also to court to celebrate. 

With the coming of summer court relocated to Woodstock, as Henry had a sudden urge to hunt in which Elizabeth joined him. The Palace was a grand old rambling stone residence, situated in a lush parkland. What had begun as an old royal hunting lodge had been expanded upon year after year, decade after decade, and century after century to produce a stone manor far from uniform in appearance, each addition unique from the last.

Upon entering the ancient palace, the renovations Henry had commissioned were immediately apparent. New floors had been laid, polished wood paneling covered the walls of some rooms, and the palace was brimming with the heraldic emblems, which Henry was so fond of. 

It was there in that country palace that the king, queen, and their retinue passed a blessedly quiet summer. Henry eventually progressed in his lute playing lessons, and Elizabeth became a better huntress. In the middle of the summer de Puebla returned to their kingdom and swiftly made his way to Woodstock.

And so it was, on a boiling summer afternoon, that the ambassador was announced as Elizabeth and her ladies were working on their embroidery. Her receiving room was hastily tidied as the Queen took to her stately chair, her ladies flocking to her sides to surround her like an angelic halo. “I see you have returned, Senior de Puebla.” Elizabeth said, folding her hands in her lap. “And you seem to have come in some haste. For we had barely received the information that you were on our shores before we heard you announced at our doors.”

“I beg your pardon, your grace, if I have come at an inconvenient time. I will confess I came straight away merely because I understood there was no reason to delay.”

“Then we are of one mind.” Elizabeth allowed her features to soften. “We assume your travels were safe and that you are in good health.”

“Indeed.”

“And your illustrious patrons, my brother Ferdinand and sister Isabella?” She hoped the familial connotations were not misapplied, and rather suggested a level of warmth and comfort which would later be reciprocated.

“They fair rather well, as does their fair kingdom.”

Elizabeth decided to test the waters, “And the Infanta Catalina?”

“She is a hearty and intelligent child, well-mannered and the most beautiful princess you ever saw.” The older man’s eyes seemed to light up genuinely when he spoke of her, and Elizabeth understood that he must know the royal family quite personally.

“Then we are all receiving God’s blessings.”

“Most assuredly.” 

Not exactly sure how to navigate the waters of conversation, or how much small talk was proper, Elizabeth forged straight to the heart of his visit. “There are some negotiations and arrangements which must be made before the wedding is finalized, or even the final treaty signed, of course.”

De Puebla’s head bobbed a nod of agreement. “Yes, there are some particulars to work through.”

“For a start, we would ask that the king and queen of Spain write to us in Latin. You see, we do not speak or read Spanish, and so Latin should be the language of our correspondence.”

“Yes, your grace, I shell set the request to my king and queen.” De Puebla licked his lips and let his eyes fall downcast. “And then there is the matter of the dowry.”

“The dowry?” Elizabeth tried not to let her brow furrow, she could not allow her ladies or this ambassador to see her taken off guard. “My dear Ambassador, we had already settled to dowry.”

“I regret to humbly remind your grace that the dowry was never agreed to. The amount was never set forth in the preliminary treaty and the King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella never agreed with your graces as to the amount.”

Only a select few would have realized that the set of Elizabeth’s jaw was an indication of her rising irritation with the ambassador. The term had been set, the fact that it had not been included in the initial written terms was an indicator to her that the Spanish were not going to make this at all easy for them and that she would have to be doubly attentive and equally wily. “It is 200,000 crowns or nothing.” She took on the imperious tone her husband often invoked to see that he got his own way. “The number has already been sufficiently discussed, and there are more important terms to work through.”

All obsequious head bowing and handwringing, a show for sure, de Puebla returned to the drawing board. “My patrons have bid me inquire as to the other terms you envision.”

“What of Spain’s support for our monarchy and dynasty?” 

“Is the promise of a wife and queen not support enough?”

It was everything she could do not to grip the wooden arm of her chair in a white knuckled embrace. “We both know that it shall be many a year until such a marriage may take place. May…” She let the word linger in the air between them. “Betrothals fall through all the time, ambassador. We were once promised to be dauphine of France, and look at where we sit today.” She held her head high, her father had often used the royal ‘we’ to intimidate lesser men. “We need some assurance that Spain has an interest in our continued success and security, until such a time as a union of our kingdoms shall come to pass.”

De Puebla thought on the matter. “We can promise not to encourage those who would seek to rebel against your power.”

“We already expect nothing less from the king and queen.” She pursed her lips, he was giving her hardly any ground, the benefits for England were too narrow.

“Spain will neither harbor nor support rebels against your throne. But my royal patrons will expect the same from England.”

“Done.” 

Every term of the treaty was hard fought for by Elizabeth over the days de Puebla visited. She had counted the ambassador among her and Henry’s friends, but such a label did not hamper him from diligently advocating and negotiating for the Spanish monarchs’ better interests. In the end they had come to a type agreement and she had summoned a scribe to take down the basic terms in their joint presence. Such notes would later be transcribed into a suitable treaty which could be signed.

Henry had been able to calm the seeds of unrest that had sprouted in the north through such devices as he always seemed to use to turn the first fruits of discord to allegiance. He had routinely left and returned to Woodstock, taking care of his business while she minded the task he had delegated to her. 

The very apex of the summer had come to pass and the solstice was behind them. The long days would soon begin to dwindle and fade into the golden hues of early fall. Fall always made her thoughts drift to Arthur, as they did this evening as she sat by the light of a candle in her shift and brushed her hair at her looking glass. He had been born on the very cusp of summer and autumn, nearly three years ago. The missives she received from her nurses and mistress of his achievements and development were no substitute to qualm the daily urge to be with her one and only child. He was precocious, they said, reserved but intelligent. The words hardly began to encompass his real personality which she was able to glimpse on her all too infrequent visits. They spoke nothing of how his ginger tresses now brushed his small shoulders, how his skin smelled of lavender and baby after his baths, how his voice struggled to pronounce the big words he longed to use, how he was taller than the other boys already and how much he looked like his father. These remarks, though welcome, would have been unseemly and were certainly unexpected.

She stood and yawned. Her feet ached after such a long and tiresome day, and her grand bed with its soft mattress was calling to her. With only a little difficulty she managed to clamber into the high bed, she had to remember to order a step stool for daily it seemed to grow more difficult to get in. 

Just as she was getting snug down under the linens and was about to read a little from her daily prayer book there was the sound of footsteps just outside her apartments. She pulled the light bedding up further in case she needed to preserve her modesty against an untimely visitor, and peered around the drapes which hung open about all three sides of the bed.

The door opened quiet on its hinges and someone entered into the shadows which had gathered at the far end of the room, away from her taper and the last embers of her fire. “There you are.”

She would have known the voice anywhere, any time, it had become as familiar to her as her own. “Henry? I didn’t think you would be back until tomorrow, or maybe that we would meet in London.”

“I wanted just a bit more of the countryside with you before we packed off back for the city.” He was unlacing his riding jacket as he crossed into the dim light near the bed. “You are in bed a little early, are you not? I thought you would still be up playing music, or dancing, or even gambling.” There was a twinkle in his eye at the last suggestion.

“I am trying to gamble less. An early night is a good deterrent.” She remarked quickly.

He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead before he shrugged out of the jacket, road dust wafting from the garment as it fell to the floor. “And do you presume to stay here tonight with me?” She lay a ribbon between the pages of her tiny book before she lay it over her stomach. 

“Oh, I am weary, do not send me away.” Henry ran a hand through his hair as he rounded the bed to climb in beside her. It had been some time since they had shared a bed, even just to sleep in the same room as they used to do so often. He had been preoccupied with his work and she with hers. Sometimes when she had slipped into his apartments on the evening he was at Woodstock she would find him bent over his desk, cheek to his papers, snoring softly, or else snoozing in a chair by the fire with a half-finished nightcap still in his hand. 

It felt odd to have him slip in beside her. Moving a little she rested her weight on one hip to face him while he burrowed his head into a pillow. “Tell me about your work on the Spanish treaty.” His voice was a little muffled against the down of the pillow.

“Well, we have come to some agreeable terms, and we did not have to compromise altogether too much. I believe we have reached a conclusion. All that needs be done is for the treaty to be drafted and then signed and sealed.” She stroked his hair tenuously as she contemplated his presence here, why was it she had thought to send him off to his own rooms? “How was your journey? I hear your work in the north was a success.”

“Fine, fine. All rather dull and troublesome. I do not want to talk about it.” His hands went to her waist to hug her closer, then suddenly he halted with a hand on her side and sat up. “Bess…” his eyes were no longer bleary, but clear and dazzling.

“What is it?” She studied him.

“Have you been keeping something from me?” He looked like a young boy, eager to win some game or garner some praise. His countenance had lit up with a beaming smile and he looked expectant. Though she had no idea what he was on about.

“You know I keep nothing from you.”

He brought his hand up to move the bed linens from her and smoothed a hand over her stomach. “Nothing? Why Elizabeth, would you not tell me you are pregnant?”

Color rushed to her face in a hot boil. “Pregnant?” She repeated with some ire, “Why, yes I have put some weight recently, but I would think—“

He was busy pressing his ear to her belly. “Why would you conceal this from me?” 

She looked down, at her shift falling over the rounded swell of her stomach. Yes, it did make sense, did it not? She could not remember her last monthlies, her bosoms had swollen uncomfortably, she had been ravenous on a daily basis, and had not she just this very evening bemoaned her sore feet and cumbersome figure? Tears glistened on her lashes, “Oh dearest, I am so sorry, I had not… realized.”

“How could you not realize?” He sat up and back on his heels. “It seems quite obvious.”

“I had hoped, but I did not want to… sometimes a woman gets false signals…” She wiped at her eyes with the cuffs of her sleeves, how had she not seen until now that she was already at least four or five months along. “I am so sorry, dear husband.”

Henry cupped her face in his hand, stroking away an errant tear with his thumb. “There is nothing to apologize for, nor any need for tears. Of course, I cannot understand how this escaped your notice.” He melted into a smile. “But, now is a time of joy. Oh Bess, was ever a wife – a queen – so good?”


	19. In a Bind

No time had been wasted in making the announcement. Already a rather prideful creature, Elizabeth had seen Henry’s pride increased even more. There had been a long pause between when Arthur had been born and this pregnancy, nearly three years, perhaps he had begun to doubt they would have another child.

Of course, that would be because he did not know about the child that was not. 

Not long after the announcement Elizabeth, her heart heavy with the vivid contrast between her husband’s joy and her own apprehensions, called his mother to her apartment. The older woman was received in the outer chamber, where Elizabeth sat on a bench draped with furs and covered with cushions.

“Once again, I must express my congratulations, my dear, at your most fortunate news.” Margaret dipped a shallow curtsey. 

“My thanks, you may sit.” Elizabeth distractedly motioned to a chair opposite her. “I trust you are comfortable at Coldharbor.”

“As always.”

“And your husband?”

“Yes, quite. Though you know, he is often here.”

Elizabeth folded her hands in her lap. “Quite right.” Her fingers twisted and tangled as she wondered how to proceed. The small talk which normally came easily to her had fled her mind. “I trust you will make the accommodations for this lying in as you did my last?”

“You may depend on it.” 

Flickers of the ordeal of the birth at Winchester played through her mind for a split second. “Though, here at Westminster Palace this time.”

“If you so wish.”

For a moment the two women took one another in, taking in the measure of the other. Margaret was serene as always, her hands flat against her lap and her cool grey eyes, so like Henry’s, betrayed nothing of the inner workings behind them. Elizabeth sat in sharp contrast to the older woman, her fingers twinning with one another, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“You did not ask me here tonight for such routine questions, did you?” Margaret observed after a long beat.

Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I asked you to come so I could tell you something and hopeful gain a little counsel.” There was only a slight nod from Margaret, which was encouragement enough. “It is something I have not told to another soul. I did not know how – how to tell anyone.”

She longed to rise and pace, to tell Margaret to leave, that there was nothing to discuss. But she had made up her mind that she had to tell someone, and her mother-in-law was the best choice of confidante. “There was another child. After Arthur. It was only for a few months but… but the child did not make it. I lost him – her – I do not know.” She took a deep breath, the kind that rattles down your throat and into your belly. “The baby did not come to term, I mean. I lost him after only a few months of carrying him.”

“A miscarriage.” Margaret supplied.

“Yes.” She looked to the ceiling and blinked back the tears, though she was sure her eyes were already puffy and her face was probably crimson. “Yes – I know they are not that uncommon. But it was so… so horrendous.”

“The loss.”

“Physically yes it was…. There was so much blood and – well, I will not… but in my mind…” It was hard to put into words what she had resolved to put into words. “The loss affected me in my mind.”

Margaret slowly rose and for a moment Elizabeth wondered if she was leaving. But soon her fears were allayed and the woman came to sit beside her on the bench. “And you told no one?”

“Not a soul.” She breathed it like a solemn oath.

“Not even Henry?”

The scarlet flush now reached her ears and the tip of her nose. “Especially not Henry.” It was said practically through her teeth, anything less would have come out as a sob, her façade would have crumbled, she would have crumbled.

Margaret’s hand on her shoulder was steady, but soft. “Why did you bear all of this yourself, child?”

She tried to inhale, but hiccupped, then a sob broke loose. “I did not think… it was something to share.”

“I will always love and support you,” the older woman applied pressure to Elizabeth’s shoulder and the queen gave in, resting her head on Margaret’s narrow shoulder, “no matter what.”

They sat thus for some time. Silent tears tracing down Elizabeth’s cheeks while Margaret rubbed her back idly. She had known, of course, that Margaret would accept the event unruffled, unperturbed by the knowledge. It wasn’t unusual for a woman to lose a child during pregnancy. But for a queen there were other implications, and so she had kept it to herself. She did not need her fitness to be questioned. She did not need Henry’s ability to be questioned. She did not need the monarchy to be questioned any more than it already was. That was a burden she was only too willing to keep off her husband’s shoulders.

The fire cracked and popped in the hearth, the wind thrashed at the windows, Apollo whimpered in his sleep by her feet. Margaret’s fingers on her back soothed her until the moment had passed. “Of course,” The duchess’s voice was low, “you know you will have to tell Henry.”

She sat up slowly and dabbed at her face with her hands as demurely as she could manage. “Must I?”

“Solid marriages are built on the truth. You need to be able to trust one another.” Margaret brushed back Elizabeth’s hair with her fingers, the action came naturally to her, like a maternal reflex. “You cannot trust one another while there are secrets you keep from one another.”

As a woman who’d had four marriages, though she claimed that in all reality it was only three marriages, Elizabeth found herself bound to accept Margaret’s words as prudent.

“Sooner is better than later, daughter.” Margaret cautioned. “I feel bound to tell you I am leaving court tomorrow. I am returning to Collyweston for a time.”

Elizabeth felt the air go out of her for a moment with the blow of the news. “Shall you return for my confinement?” 

“I believe you are in more than capable hands with your own mother.” Margaret said, patting her daughter-in-law’s hand. “I could use the time away from court. But I will return for the christening. I wouldn’t miss if for the world.”

“Thank you, Lady Margaret.” Was her subdued response.

“Besides, I plan to stop at Eltham on the road north and spend some my time with a certain grandson whose been hidden away there.” 

The news of Margaret’s plan to see Arthur gladdened the queen’s heart immensely. “Oh, please do write me to tell me how he fares. The notes from the household are simply not adequate for a mother’s aching heart, as I am sure you can well imagine.”

“Indeed, dear, I shall.” Margaret agreed.

So it was the next morning, after mass, that she made a point of seeking out her husband. Always so busy, she understood that she would probably have to wait her turn to catch some time alone with him. 

“His grace is in the middle of a meeting with his privy council, your grace.” She was told by the guards at the door to Henry’s audience chamber.

“Please be so good as to inform his grace that I shall await him.” Elizabeth tried to keep her nerves from her gestures and habits, stilling her hands by clasping them together over the small bump of her belly.

The guards looked at one another and one nodded before cracking the door to relay the message to a man in the ante camber. There were a few minutes before the door cracked open again and a servant slipped through.

“Your grace,” he bowed low, “His grace requests you join him within.”

It was unusual for him to include her in any sort of diplomatic discussions, but she nodded her assent. “Do lead the way.” She was detained in the antechamber for a few moments while she was announced. As she entered the men stood, even the king. A chair had been pulled up at her husband’s elbow, which she presumed, was for her. Once she had seated herself everyone returned to their seats and conversation picked up where it had left off. 

The King and his advisors were sitting about the great oak table where Henry always tended to take their advice. There were papers strewn over the table top along with some stubby unlit tapers, open ledgers, and pencils scattered about. Sunlight poured in through the tall windows that stood like giants along the two long walls.

“We were just discussing,” Henry began in a hushed aside to Elizabeth, “who should take Northumberland’s place in the north now that the post is vacant.”

“It must be someone whom the crown can trust entirely,” an advisor said, getting to his feet, “there is still some lingering sympathies in that region for the Yo—uh—your grace’s, well, your predecessor.” 

“For the Yorks?” Henry mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“I did not say –“ The man began to protest.

“Yes, but, I know perfectly well what you meant.” The king’s eyebrows raised expectantly over his grey, unreadable eyes.

The man winced, but he had nothing to fear really, Elizabeth knew, as he had been loyal to Henry for years, even in exile – a deed not soon forgotten or discarded by the King.

“If a York is what they want, a York is what they shall get.” He glanced at his wife, “Why not our prince Arthur? He is half a York, is he not?”

The men discussed this amongst themselves in low murmurs and hushed consults about the table. “Of course, the Prince will need an agent…” Bishop Foxe said after some rather protracted conversations.

“Naturally.” Henry agreed. “And who do you suggest, Bishop?”

“May we suggest your step father, Lord Stanley?” Another man, eager to garner favor, cut in before the Bishop. “Your grace?” Was his hasty addition.

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. Stanley? The man could not be serious. Surely he should be a last resort rather than a primary suggestion, unless she had missed some key development in the last few days. She looked over at Stanley, seated at the other end of the table, who looked just as confused.

“I rather think not.” Henry smiled that dry grin of his, the one that masked his irritation. “I could not acquiesce to the imprudence of promoting to that position the very man who betrayed, not five years past, the trust of the champion and former lord of the North.” His tone was flat and firm, rather more definitive than irate on the surface. “Besides, I need Lord Stanley here in London.” He nodded at his step-father who returned the gesture. “Whom else might you promote, my lords?”

“I believe,” John de Vere, Earl of Oxford intoned, “The Earl of Surrey is already in the north, your grace. And given his apparent familiarity with the political climate and figures there, would it not behoove us to promote him as the Prince’s agent?”

“Quite right. Thank you Oxford.” 

Elizabeth felt her maternal pride swell, Her own son, only a baby, being entrusted with such a title made her glad. It also made her glad to see her husband recognizing that introducing their boy to the region was the perfect way to acclimate the Yorkist territories and holdouts to the Tudor reign. 

As the time inched by and the men discussed matter after matter Elizabeth could feel her resolve to talk to Henry about the matter ebbing away. What if she told Henry she had failed him, only for this child to be stillborn or short-lived? She had proven herself capable of giving him one child, but if she failed him twice in a row she feared she could not bear the humiliation. She could feel her palms growing slick with sweat as she gripped the oak arms of her chair. The fact that her face was a little flushed would not have come to her as a surprise. 

At long last the men all stood, bowed, and took their leave, filing out the vacuous room slowly to eventually leave the royal couple behind, alone.

“Thank you for including me.” Elizabeth tipped her chin in deference to her husband as she addressed him.

He acknowledged her with a look as he stood to gather his papers scattered on the table, placing them into a handsome wood box, shallow but wide enough to house large sheafs of paper. “There was something you wished to talk with me about?”

“I- I-“ Lamely she gave the first excuse that came into her head, “I can’t remember.”

Henry turned slightly to regard her with an expression equally confused and amused. “You can’t remember?”

“Yes, I apologize.” She rested one hand on her rounded belly and rubbed her temple with the other, “Forgetfulness is a symptom of my condition. And the conversations just now were so diverting, they only enabled the thought to flee my mind more easily.”

“Well,” Her husband returned to his task, “Do be sure to let me know when you remember.”

Elizabeth stood, no longer graceful due to her growing stomach. “It was probably nothing at all.” She said dismissively, “But I will let you know if it was, indeed, of some import.”

****

“A message, your grace.” One of Elizabeth’s ladies announced.

The queen looked away from the flames licking the inside of the hearth in her chambers. Her copper tub had been lined with linen and stood before the great fireplace with steaming hot water. The water had turned her skin pink from the heat, and the small flower petals that had been scattered atop the water had begun to cling to her damp skin like indissoluble snowflakes. “Oh?” She held out her hand, palm upward as her lady approached.

The seal gave away her correspondent’s identity in a moment, and Elizabeth eagerly broke the wax to unfold the letter. She was pleased to find two sheets of her sister’s scrawling, messy handwriting, Cecily was always too eager to get out what she had to say to take care of her penmanship.

“I greet you well, my queen and sister” it began, “mother has written to tell me of your great joy, a second child! Truly you are most blessed. I pray daily for the health of yourself and your dear child. Of course, the king and prince are never forgotten from my prayers either. Now I feel I must convey to you my own great joy, for I am also with child. The prospect of having two children who are of an age overwhelms me with great happiness. My dear husband has been most accommodating of my condition while we are at home and I am resting. Perhaps if it is a girl you will indulge me and allow me to name her in your honor? You must write to me often, as I expect I shall go into my confinement in the next month and shall be desperate for diversion. Tell me of London, court, and all of the court gossip, though I know you pay it no heed. I remain forever and always your affectionate sister, Cecily.” 

A grin covered Elizabeth’s face and she giggled to herself with excitement. Maybe it would all be alright, she thought as she passed the sheafs of paper over her lips. She should be more optimistic, like her sister.

****

Elizabeth knew she should not think of the child she had lost, the child who never was. But she thought of him often enough, though she knew to do so was morbid and unhealthy. The knowledge that she should tell her husband of their loss plucked at her heart, but she was resolved to keep the knowledge to herself until she had safely delivered him another child. Her husband was a superstitious man and he would almost certainly take it as a bad omen.

“Your mother has begged a private audience.” Henry informed her that evening over a trestle table of sweet meats and fruit. They kept their private meals simple, but refined enough for their station. In part it was due to Henry’s distaste for vast amounts of rich food, and it was also due in part to his constant concern over money.

“And what do you think it is which she craves?” Elizabeth caught the eye of a serving boy and motioned to a nectarine on a platter out of her reach.

Henry tore a chunk of crusty white bread from the loaf before him. “One of two things, I am sure.”

“Oh?” She nodded her thanks to the serving boy and bit into the nectarine, wiping the juice from the corners of her mouth with her fingers. “And will you be sharing those theories with me?”

In the waning sunlight which weakly filtered through the leaded glass windows of Baynard’s where they had taken up residence for a time, Elizabeth could see a grin stretch his thin lips. “As I see it she either seeks a husband-“

Elizabeth scoffed, but her husband smiled knowingly and raised a hand to prevent any further comment from her.

“Or-“ He continued, “she seeks a larger allowance.” 

“Could she not be seeking a marriage for one of my sisters?”

Henry shook his head and picked at the meats on his plate with his fingers. “She knows those arrangement are already in our sole discretion. Besides Anne and Catherine are too young.”

Elizabeth frowned to herself, her lips twisting. “And if she seeks a marriage for herself… what then shall you say?”

Her husband looked confused, “Yes, of course?”

“And send her away from me?”

He sighed “You’ve been fortunate enough to have her near thus far, it is more than most queens are allowed. Besides, if she wants to serve our kingdom by entering into a marriage alliance, I will be most grateful to her for her loyalty and patriotism.”

Elizabeth knew he was right. Had she married the Dauphin of France, as she was meant to, in all probability she would never have seen her mother again after crossing into France. She was fortunate, and even a bit spoilt, to have constant access to her mother now. “Where would you marry her?”

Sitting back, Henry fiddled with the rings on his fingers. “James in Scotland needs a wife.” 

She fairly laughed. “Yes, a wife. Not a mother! Henry, the boy-king is younger than myself, younger than Cecily!” Exasperation fueled the silence that filled the gap between them. He could not be serious, could he? Did his ambition follow any rules? “Henry, I know you are eager for an alliance with Scotland, I know you are wary of our northern boarder. But surely there is another marriage we can make there. Perhaps one of my sisters?”

Disagreement was written plainly on Henry’s face. “Your mother is as loyal as she is bright. She would be able to impress him with England’s goals and interests.” He spread his hands, as if he was presenting her with a plan for which he craved her approval.

“You would make James your puppet?”

Her husband’s expression, his set jaw and the way his eyes darted from her, seemed to indicate that he did not approve the particular illustration she had used. However, he did not deny it. “We have to look out for the interested of our kingdom and dynasty.”

“I am sure you could negotiate a low dowry for her, too.” Elizabeth said. She knew how his mind worked, like an accounting ledger. “Which reminds me, what id she asks for an augmented allowance?”

Henry looked off, out the window beside the table, as he simply shook his head, unable to form even an explanation.

“Come now, Henry. Surely we can afford a better living for her.” 

“Yes, but then they will all come asking for a larger allowance.” She could almost see the sums drifting in columns behind his gray eyes, grown dark in the dimming room. “Let her be married.”

“But we have the money!” A shrillness entered her voice as she realized she had pressed further than she should have.

“We have money, it is true.” He conceded, standing abruptly. “But the best way to acquire more money is to have some already.”

“But why-“ Her protest was cut short.

“Do you know how poor and indebted the crown was when I came into it?” He asked, as he paced closer to her from the opposite end of the table. “The wars and skirmishes had bankrupted the crown. Battle is no cheap thing. And money, money means stability. Stability means safety.” His voice softened as he approached her. “I just want to make the world safe for you and the children, dearest.” His cool hand came to cup her cheek, and she leaned against his palm as he kissed her hair. “I am afraid I have upset you. I do not wish to excite the baby. Rest now.”

Elizabeth knew he meant what he said, but she wasn’t blind to the role his own ambitions played in the matter.

****

The inner chamber, the more private of the King’s two receiving rooms, was attended only by guards at each door, a couple of serving maids and boys, and one scribe, should Henry wish anything be reduced to writing. The room was a cavernous wood paneled apartment with doors in to the pubic receiving room, the private corridor, Henry’s private chambers where he slept and a servants corridor. On the walls, small windows admitted just enough light to render candles in the daytime redundant. Overhead, the ceiling was latticed with wood beams painted green and gold, with Tudor and Beaufort devices scattered across the designs.

Henry had not summoned any of his councilors, save Bishop Foxe, who stood out of the way, as inconspicuous as possibly in his dour black robes and cap. As Elizabeth took her chair under the cloth of state, her husband paced the dais. 

“I had a message from your mother this morning.” Elizabeth said in the hopes of distracting him. “She has reached Eltham, and all she writes of is Arthur.” A self-indulgent smile played on her lips.

This, at least, seemed to still the restless king, as he slowed to stand before her. “And what does she say of our son?”

“He is well. Quite healthy and well cared for.” The lines and passages of the letter had become inscribed on her heart with indelible ink. “She says he is most intelligent, clever, like you.” Her smile this time was for him alone. “In fact, she reports he is most entirely your boy, in mind and person.”

“Oh?” Henry’s fingers played over the pewter bottoms of his doublet.

“Indeed, she does not believe it is too early to engage a tutor for him, she believes he would learn to read and write rather quickly.”

Henry snorted to conceal a laugh, “He is only three years old.”

“If his mind is active and receptive, then he is not too young, Henry.” She rested a hand on her bump, “I pray he grows into an heir who continues the legacy of his father, for he seems to promise to be most like you.”

“I pray he is not so slender or unloveable as I.” Henry’s voice was dark and bore a note of too much honesty.

“Henry…”. She reached for his hand.

“You’re right, he should have enough York in him to combat the worst of my qualities which he may have inherited.” Henry relented.

“Be not so dark, you are altogether too prone to see the bad in things.”

He let her hand drop as Elizabeth Woodville was announced, and moved around her chair and stood at his wife’s shoulder. “That’s why I have you,” The king whispered, “To balance me out.”

The dowager queen entered the chamber, eyes down. “Your graces.” he voice was low.

“Mother.” Henry greeted his mother-in-law, setting the informal tone expected for all parties, for which Elizabeth was grateful. “Come closer.” He beckoned she approach the dais, but still stood slightly behind Elizabeth’s chair.

“I trust you both continue in good health?” Her mother asked.

“Indeed,” Henry’s hand wandered to his wife’s shoulder, “And Elizabeth’s time approaches, but she remained in excellent spirits and health.”

Elizabeth Woodville’s eyes take in her daughter, “She does look well indeed.”

But Elizabeth was concerned, her mother looked and sounded oddly formal. “And yourself, mother?”

“I am well enough.” Her face was a mask, separating the mother and daughter. Her false smile was mercurial behind the lappets of her hood, and the phrasing of her answer raised a mental red flag for Elizabeth.

“Is there aught we can do for you?” Henry asked. “Is they why you have requested a private audience?”

“No.” The response was hasty and plaintive, lest either of the monarchs be mistaken. “As least in part.”

Henry moved around Elizabeth’s chair to sit in his own at her side. “Explain. What do you request of us?”

“May I speak frankly?” The words hardly sounded like her bold mother, and Elizabeth had the distinct impression that what the older woman requested meant a great deal to her.

“Of course.” Henry’s eyes drifted to Foxe, practically hidden in a dark shadow, for only a moment. The man was the king’s most trusted advisor, the very embodiment of discretion. He would not be asked to give them privacy, Elizabeth knew. “We are all family here.” The king said, instead.

The laxness was not characteristic of Henry. Ceremony was paramount to him these days. He used it to exude power and exercise control over even the most minute details of his reign. He was lulling Elizabeth Woodville into a false sense of comfort, she realized, in the hope that she would simply agree to do his bidding with as little complaint as possible.

She knew the both of them too well, and sensed instinctively that she would end up in the role of mediator between them.

“Your grace, it is no secret I have grown advanced in age. My daughters had married well and begun their own families, or are members or court, or have entered a life in service of the church.”

Elizabeth thought of her youngest sister, Briget, who had recently entered a life of devotion to the Lord. Too young to make such a large decision herself, their mother had sought the king’s approval of the plan prior to the dedication of the child.

Elizabeth Woodville continued, “I find myself quite alone these days, when I am not in the service of my queen.” She adjusted the ring on her finger so the gem stone caught the light, it was a keepsake of her second husband and the queen’s father, King Edward IV. “I have no position, no role, no function at court.”

Henry’s face belied little concern. He had seen his mother-in-law’s speech as a prelude to the situation he had anticipated. “What is it you wish for?”

“I beg your grace’s joint blessing, and allow me to retire to a monastery.”

Alarm entered Elizabeth’s eyes as she swung her head to regard her husband’s expression. Never one to wear his heart on his sleeve, Henry remained a closed book as always. “Why now?” Was his sole query.

“I have no purpose here. And after years at court, I long for a quiet, private escape.”

“But mother,” Elizabeth cut in, “I do need you.”

Her mother’s smile was sweet, but melancholy. “You have your ladies now, your king, your children. You have no need of me.”

Henry was silent but contemplative. “What if i could give you a position, a function?”

“Your grace.” Elizabeth Woodville blinked in disbelief.

Silently Elizabeth shook her head, a barely perceptible motion. She already knew what he would propose and she could not agree with it.

“You can still serve your kingdom, and your king.” He templed his fingers before his lips, his eyes cool and steely considered his mother-in-law.


End file.
